Harry Potter: Time Redux
by The Cursed and Torn
Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the course history.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the lives of everyone, past, present, and future.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.©

Chapter 1- Mission: Retrieval

* * *

Godric's Hallow; October 31st, 1981: 4:30pm...

* * *

He wondered vaguely why he was standing there, under an invisibility cloak, waiting for the unmistakably event that would make history in the Wizardry World, only for its apocalypse to arrive fifty six years later. A part of him wondered if he should just simply kill the child, the baby, and be done with it. Without him, the Dark Lord would no longer exist, and that'd be the end of that.

For that matter, he should probably just go and kill ever other person on his dubbed 'blacklist'. It'd be fairly simple, just two words, a flash of green, and that'd be the end of that. No more corrupt Ministry of Magic, no more bigotry, and certainly no more idiocy. And it wasn't like he hadn't killed before, fact of the matter was that he had hundreds of deaths under his belt.

Wouldn't be a proper solider if he didn't.

Speaking of which, he started to then ponder exactly why _he_, of all people within the order, was sent on this mission. It wasn't as if he wasn't capable, far from it, he was probably one of the few who not only could get the job done, but get it done quickly and efficiently. No, the real question was why, when all his skills could have been put to better use in the war he had been fighting since he was twelve years of age.

After all, he wasn't a master of the Dark Arts for nothing.

He hadn't bleed, cried, and shed many a tear for him just to be sent on some crapped mission. One that in actuality, had no standing on the eventually success or downfall of his home, of the only life he had ever known.

Absently rubbing his forearm, which had the number 0021128 of burned onto his skin. It was the date that he had joined in the fight, the fight to regain what his parents had given up in order to survive, what most of the world gave up to survive.

Freedom.

He had promised, made an Unbreakable Vow to do everything he could to ensure that he would aid his masters and fellow rebels in bringing down the Dark Lord, swearing a Wizards Oath, meaning on his life and magic that he would never break that solemn vow.

All in the distant future of February 2nd, 2028.

So why the hell did they send him back?

He gritted his teeth, a feeling over anger washing over him.

He had followed his orders down to the letter, broken into the Institution and stolen books from its library, even going as far as to sneak a few from the Dark Lord's personal collection, to gain the power necessary to help.

It was only recently that he had stopped suffering from the after affects of prolonged subjection to the Cruciatus Curse. Though he still had a few minor episodes here and there.

He had studied well into the night, gaining knowledge of the Dark Arts, learning how to wield it, how to use it to their advantage.

He alone had the knowledge that most of the prominent members of the order feared, the very power that the Dark Lord himself possessed. That was probably why on so many occasions they had tried to send him to the Work Camp. Not a very pleasing place, especially since it was overridden with dark creatures and former criminals.

Nobody ever survived there for more then a day, at least without doing things that no normal sane person would do. Things that even in his tainted state, made him cringe. And if they returned, they brought their crimes with them.

Murder, rape, extortion, torture, the list went on. He remembered vividly on how he had killed a man he had once had the honor of calling a mentor, who he felt was an honest man through and through. He was glad he never had to tell that to the little girl that was found in the basement of his home.

The scars on her body, like the ones on her mind, never healed, but she was okay. Last he heard, she was married and expecting. When he was told, the only thing he could really say was, "Good. She deserves a happy ending."

And she did.

Shame he couldn't say the same for Ted Lupin.

And he couldn't say he didn't make the man suffer. Severely suffer.

Wizards and witches alike aren't lying when they say the Dark Arts mess with your head.

He was a living example.

Though he was able to practice some of his more lethal spells when he received the order to execute the man…

He smiled as the memories came to mind. He didn't take a sense of delight or satisfaction at torturing individuals, only the ones he felt deserved it. And there were quite a few that he felt deserved a one on one session with him…

But he never went to far beyond the point of no return when practicing the Dark Arts. No, he barely got a toe over the line before she would pull him back.

She being Leader and Supreme Head of the W.A.W.A, the Wizard And Witch Association. Though not a legal form of government, it was what was created to led the order upon its creation.

The Order of Slayers. A fitting name as what most of the members of the order actually did involve killing.

Or in his case, killing and resurrecting.

After all, everyone had a specialty in his or her field of work. His field was the Dark Arts. His specialty was Necromancy. The Arts of the Dead. Soul magic. The purest form of the Dark Arts.

And he had to admit, he was pretty good at it, ego aside.

Which again redirected his line of questioning back to his leader sending him almost sixty years into the past. Reaching into his overcoat, which was filthy beyond belief with several burn marks and dried blood littering it, pulled out a folded, crumbled piece of parchment.

Opening it up and smoothing the creases out as best he could, he read the contents of the list, committing all the names to memory as his light blue eyes scanned the sheet.

* * *

_ORDER OF SLAYERS; 'BLACKLIST'_

_X'S ARE MEANT TO BE KILLED ON SIGHT._

_1. Barty Crouch Sr._

_2. Barty Crouch Jr. X_

_3. Antion Dolohov_

_4. Bellatrx LeStrange X_

_5. Rabastan LeStrange X_

_6. Rodolphus LeStrange X_

_7. Waldan Macnair_

_8. Peter Pettigrew X_

_9. Augustus Rookwood_

_10. Fenrir Greyback X_

_11. Lucius Malfoy X_

_12. Dolores Umbridge X_

_13. Cornelius Fudge_

_14. Thomas Mulciber_

* * *

Some of these names he recognized instantly.

One of these being 12 on his list, Dolores Umbridge.

He felt his grip on the paper tighten at the mere mention of her name.

Dolores Umbridge was one of the Dark Lord's most prominent followers. Under his rule, she had written and passed many anti-legislation against muggle-borns and half-breeds following her breakout from Azkaban Prison, which had then been converted to the Work Camp from the inmates that refused to leave.

She was the reason why there were no longer any muggle-born children attending Hogwarts. Scratch that. The magical school hadn't been called that for almost ten years. The school was now known as the Institution.

Another change that the Dark Lord made once he had gained power. In addition to now only permitting those who could trace their lineage to that of a pureblood family, any child found that came from a muggle family was to be taken, their magical core drained before being sold into a perfectly legal system of human trafficking to work as slaves.

After all, thanks to the putrefaction movement that Dolores had organized and spearheaded, the Impure Blood Confederation, there were no longer house elves to work as menial labor. In fact, there weren't really any magical humanoid beasts left in the world. The giants, vampires, veela, goblins, centaurs, anything that closely resembled a human was hunted and killed. What few that were left had gone into hiding, trying in vain to keep their race of people alive.

One of these individuals happened to be his best friend Victoire Weasley.

Though fifteen years older then himself, they had created a close relationship, closer then what most people would consider as the boundaries of friendship.

And he'd admit that there was something, at least in his opinion concerning his own personal feelings. He knew he had felt some level of attraction to her, even counting out the fact that she was half-veela. But she had been married at the time, with three kids, and seemed perfectly content.

That was until her husband had been sent on a mission to the Work Camp. Until he came back, perverse, dirty. Until he raped and savagely killed his two daughters and an innocent girl, brutalizing his son beyond the point of recognition before killing him.

Until he pulled his wand out and killed him right in front of her.

She had lost everything.

He found her the next morning, dead in a pool of her own blood.

It was at that moment, that he vowed to kill, murder, Dolores Umbridge. Another reason as to why he hated the Dark Lord was because he had beaten him to it.

Taking another look at the piece of parchment, he read the rest of the message that was written on it, telling him the rest of his mission.

* * *

_MISSION 1: DESTROY ALL LISTED 'X' VOLDEMORT/DARK LORD FOLLOWERS. ALL ONES DUBBED WITHOUT 'X', ARE TO BE A) IMPRISONED, OR B) INDISPOSED._

_MISSION 2: ENSURE THE SURVIVAL OF LILY NEE' EVANS POTTER AND HARRY JAMES POTTER._

_MISSION 3: ASSIST IN SECOND WIZARDY WAR WHILE TRAINING HARRY JAMES POTTER IN THE ARTS OF LIGHT AND DARK. BELOW ARE THE STUDIES HE SHOULD BE PROFICIENT IN BY SEPTEMBER 1__st__, 1991._

_Light Arts;_

_Transfiguration_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_

_Potions_

_Charms_

_Astronomy_

_History of Magic_

_Care of Magical Creatures_

_Advanced Light Arts;_

_Ancient Runes_

_Arithmancy_

_Occlumency_

_Animagi_

_Healing_

_Dark Arts;_

_Necromancy_

_Advanced Dark Arts;_

_Horcruxes_

_FOLLOWING THE COMPLETION OF THIS LAST MISSION PRIORITY, THE PARCHMENT WILL UPDATE ITSELF WITH YOUR NEXT ASSIGNMENT._

* * *

He still wasn't sure on what the last two mission objectives had to do with anything, or that last message seeing as Voldemort wasn't a threat in his time, but alas, he learned not to question the leader on her decisions.

After all, she had fought in the Second Wizardry War, being a key instrument that had resulted in the downfall of said dark wizard. Maybe he should include her in whatever 'training' that he'd now have to put Potter through. From what he knew about her past, she and the boy happened to have been best friends at Hogwarts, she sticking by his side through and through, never once abandoning him.

Yes, Hermione Granger was truly an exceptional witch, both as a child and adult. It was a shame she became battle hardened and unfeeling to everyone around her though. Watching your entire family killed by your own nephew would do that to a person, no matter how calm and collected they may seem.

Especially when that nephew ended up becoming the supreme being within all of the wizardry world.

Albus Severus Potter. The Dark Lord. Son of Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Defender of Light. Heir to the Black and Potter Families. And a cold heartless killer that he himself had the immense pleasure of dueling once.

He escaped. Maimed, broken. It had taken the best Healers and Hermione's own personal work before they had repaired whatever damage they could. Officially, he suffered a through several dark curses and hexes. Unofficially, he had suffered through the worst forms of tortures imaginable. One result from the tortures he had been subjected to resulted in the loss of his right arm and left eye. Due to both magically and muggle surgeries, he had lived to see another day.

Checking his watch, he gave an aggravated sigh as he saw that the time had barely gone by, meaning that he still had another three to four hours before Voldemort would show up.

'_Great. I guess some light reading will help pass the time.'_

Pulling out a small leather bound book, the battle worn wizard leaned heavily against the tree he was sitting in front of, waiting patiently for the time for him to make his appearance.

After all, if there was anything that Danail Aleksandur was good at, it was patience.

Even if he didn't like it.

* * *

**Light Arts:**** (N/A)**

**Dark Arts:**

**Necromancy; The magical art of reanimation. Also known as 'soul' magic.**

**Spells:**** (N/A)**

* * *

**//-/Author Note/-//**

**This is my first Harry Potter story that I have every written or submitted. While I am a fan of J.K, and have read several HP fanfics, I never tried a hand at writing one. So tell me what you think and be honest. Criticism and suggestions are welcome, so please review and tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the lives of everyone, past, present, and future.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.©

Chapter 2- Mission: Extraction and Survival

* * *

Godric's Hallow; October 31st, 1981: 8:00pm.

* * *

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Diving to the side, Danail watched as the curse flew by his head, striking the parlor table and before obliterating it into ash and splinters.

Raising his hand, he shouted, "CRUCIO!"

Raising his wand, the cloaked man before him waved his hand in an arc before a shield with the insignia of a snake imprinted on the front appeared. Raising it, the man deflected the curse, the beam of light now striking the ceiling, exploding on impact.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Summoning a piece of rubble into his hand, Danail rolled his eyes as it intercepted the curse, obliterating it. _'For the supposed most dangerous dark wizard of the world, he has a habit of using the same curses a lot.'_

"I will ask one last time. Where is the boy and his mother?! Answer me, and I'll make your death quick!"

Letting a feral grin form on his lips, Danail snorted before he asked, "Did you check up your ass? I'm sure that hole would big enough from what I've heard of your night time activities snake bitch."

His response was another killing curse shot towards him, this one missing him by mere centimeters.

With his grin still present and only growing, Danail drawled, "Now now, play nice! Is it that time of month for you already?"

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

Summoning another object to intercept the curse his adversary had thrown at him, Danail merely replied with, "Hey, I call 'em as I see 'em…Snake bitch."

With a roar of fury, 'snake bitch', also more commonly known as Lord Voldemort, fired a string of curses and hexes at him, all of which he deflected with a highly powerful shield charm.

'_He's definitely pissed off now.'_

Deflecting another curse that was aimed at him, Danail frowned as another thought crossed his mind.

'_I hope Lily and Harry are okay.'_

He paused momentarily at the thought, not once caring about the welfare of others, even his comrades. To feel such concern for two individuals, two of which he had never meet before and only had a short interaction with both for about thirty seconds, was foreign and unsettling.

His moment of distraction was all that was needed before Voldemort cast a powerful Reducto Curse at his shield, shattering it before hitting him straight in the chest. Though not as powerful, it was able to send him flying through the wall of the living room and into the kitchen before he landed in a heap on the ground.

Wincing slightly at the pain he was feeling in his chest, Danail looked up and noted Voldemort, his hood removed revealing his snake like appearance, gliding towards him, anger radiating in his crimson eyes.

"I gave you chance to end your suffering! Now, I am going to prolong your death, and I. Will. Enjoy. Every. Second. Of. It."

With a maniacal gleam in his eyes, Voldemort aimed his wand at him, his thin lips already curled into a sneer.

'_Shit.'_

* * *

Flashback: Godric's Hallow; October 31st, 1981: 6:30pm.

* * *

_Glancing inside the house through the window to the kitchen, Danail found his quarry inside over the stove, obviously hard at work creating whatever meal she had decided to make for the night._

'_She's lucky this won't be the last meal she'll ever make.'_

_Though he knew a little bit of her history, he knew enough to realize that Lily Potter would have been smart enough to add additional wards to the house to protect her family. The fact that there weren't any was slightly disturbing to him._

'_The only charm being used is the Fidelius?'_

_He briefly wondered if his reports on the woman were wrong, but then realized that Dumbledore was alive in this time period._

_At the mere mention of the man's name, Danail felt his blood boil._

_No, it had nothing to do with Dumbledore being a cruel, manipulative man who only wishes to grow in power. Far from the truth actually. Dumbledore was a man who inspired truth, justice, and power of the human heart to forgive and forget. He cared, loved, and was the wisest wizard of his, or any age._

_No, what made his blood boil was the fact that what he just described was indeed the problem. Dumbledore was too soft, too loving, too forgiving. Too damn arrogant in his own thoughts and wisdom that he overlooked one important detail._

_He wasn't, isn't, will never be all knowing._

_A fact that he more then willingly admits, but never seems to believe._

_Such in this instance._

_He inspired a trust among the Potters to forgo the proper procedure of a militaristic extraction and instead settled for creating a faulty charm for protecting their family. One of great importance in the wizardry world at that._

_Deciding that his irritation wasn't exactly helpful, he pushed those feelings down for the moment before he checked his watch._

'_6:45pm. He should be arriving soon.'_

_Taking a last look at Lily who was now joined by her husband, Harry in arms, Danail turned away as they shared a kiss, feeling a small thread of guilt in his heart._

_Because he knew that would be last kiss they'd share with each other._

* * *

Godric's Hallow; October 31st, 1981: 7:05pm.

* * *

"_LILY! HE'S HERE! TAKE HARRY AND RUN! RUN!!!"_

_Two words and a jet of green light later, and James Potter laid dead on the floor._

_Walking inside with his invisibility cloak still around him, Danail stepped over James' body, pausing momentarily before continuing on. Walking up the set of stairs leading to the upstairs bedrooms, Danail watched with baited breath as Voldemort lifted his wand before casting a nonverbal 'Bombarda', blasting the doors off its hinges, Lily's high pitched scream emitting from inside the room._

_Ripping the cloak off of him and stretching his hand towards the misshapen man, Danail shouted, "Reducto Maximus!"_

_With the spell hurtling towards him, Voldemort barely had the time to conjure a hastily made shield charm before he was blasted across the hall and into the wall on the other end._

_Running into the room, he found Lily cradling her son in her arms, looking at with a mixture of shock and fear._

_Pulling the very same leather bound book he had been reading earlier, he thrust it in her hands before he tapped it with his metallic finger, ignoring her look of astonishment and horror at his appendage._

"_Don't have time to talk. I'll see you in a bit. Stay hidden. Portus!"_

_As soon as he activated the spell, Lily and Harry disappeared in a flash of light._

_Turning around, he came face to face with Voldemort, whom even with the hood on, could see the man's silted eyes as they glared death at him._

'_Here we go.'_

* * *

Flashback End: Godric's Hallow; October 31st, 1981: 8:04pm.

* * *

'_Which now leads me to my present predicament. Facing down the tip of a wand from a man whose sexuality is very questionable.'_

"Of course, by all means Voldemort. But, if I may say one last thing before you decided to cast that spell?" Every word was laced with so much sarcasm that you'd have to be a complete idiot not to hear it.

Voldemort of course, was no idiot.

"Crucio!"

Feeling as if a thousand hot knives were plunging into him, Danail gave a inhuman howl of pain. No matter how many times he got hit with this spell, he had never truly been able to get used to the pain. Feeling the spell release itself, Danail looked up blearily at the man that towered over him before he smirked.

That got the curse to be aimed at him once more, this time for even longer.

After the spell was lifted again, Danail continued to violently shake and twitch, the after affects starting to make themselves visible.

"One last time. Tell me where the Potters have gone, and I will end your pain."

"I'd tell you to kiss my ass, but then you might try to plow it too."

"CONFRINGO!"

Screaming in pure agony as his left shoulder bone was blown off along with a good amount of his flesh, accompanied by the burning sensation and smell of burning flesh, Danail felt hot tears of pain escape his eyes.

"Unless you want to lose more then your shoulder, I suggest that you tell me exactly what I want to know!"

"I'd tell you to fuck yourself if I didn't know you'd actually try it."

"YOU IMPUDENT CHILD! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! CRUCIO!"

Writhing in pain once more, this session far more intense then the last two, Danail screamed in sheer agony as Voldemort kept the curse activated for five whole minutes before lifting it.

Breathing heavily and turning pale from the loss of blood, he glared at Voldemort before a sneer formed on his lips.

"What's the matter Voldy? Lucius couldn't play tonight?"

"Sectumsempra!"

Giving a blood curdling scream as a giant wound opened up in his chest, Danail's breathing started to get hallow as his vision started to get blurry.

"Aside from your childish insults, I am most impressed with your…resistance. Most men and women that have been in my presence break before I even have to lift my wand. For you to survive one of my sessions is quite impressive."

Aiming his wand and stopping the flow of blood from the wounds he had caused, Voldemort gave Danail a menacing smile, one that promised lots of pain if he didn't cooperate.

"Now, tell me what I want to know. I will not only continue to the torture once you tell me, your only comfort throughout the rest of this ordeal will be the welcoming embrace of death."

Hacking up a pint of blood from his lips, Danail looked up at the pathetic excuse of what was once a man before he whispered hoarsely, "Just out of curiosity, you do realize that you've been fighting and torturing a dead corpse, correct?"

With Voldemort's eyes widening, he quickly flicked his wand, breaking the illusion, watching with surprise as the body slowly morphed to that of a dead and badly maimed James Potter.

"Polyjuice Potion. Dead useful if I must say so."

Turning around, Voldemort found the very man he had thought he was fighting for the past hour standing in front of him, unharmed with a small hint of mirth playing his eyes.

Taking the second advantage that presented itself, Danail reached forward and grabbed Voldemort's wand arm before swinging his metallic arm, his fist burying itself in the man's jaw, shattering it. Watching him stagger backwards from the blow, Danail took the opportunity that was presented before him.

Lifting his hand and taking aim, Danail smirked.

"Burn in hell. Avada Kedavra."

With the jet of green light hitting the man squarely in the chest, Danail watched with a raised eyebrow as the body burst into black flames, an inhuman screech ringing in the room as a black smog started to gather in a cloud above him.

Taking the shape of a human head, it turned its red eyes towards him before howling in rage, charging at him, fully intent on killing him.

Raising his metallic hand again, Danail murmured, "Animus Claustrum."

With the palm opening up, Danail watched with satisfaction as transparent chains formed before attaching themselves to Voldemort's soul before pulling him into the arm, trapping him inside.

With the hole sealing itself and cutting off the howling that was Voldemort's soul, Danail walked out of the house before snapping his fingers, setting it a blaze.

'_The wonders of nonverbal and wand less magic.'_

Giving the burning house one last look, he quickly apparated to the location he knew that Lily and Harry were, intending to see his mission through to the end.

He failed to notice the black grim that was watching him with a barely contained rage in its eyes.

* * *

**Light Arts:**** (N/A)**

**Spells****:**

**Portus (Transportation Charm)-**

**Transforms an object into a portkey.**

**Confringo (Blasting Curse)-**

**Causes anything that the spell comes into contact with to explode. **

**Reducto (Reductor Curse)-**

**Blasts object out of the casters path. If used strongly it can destroy or disintigrate the object. **

**Reducto Maximus (Reductor Curse)-**

**Blasts object out of the casters path. If used strongly it can destroy or disintigrate the object. A far more powerful variation of the spell.**

**Dark Arts:**

**Necromancy; The magical art of reanimation. Also known as 'soul' magic.**

**Spells:**

**Avada Kedavra (Killing Curse)-**

**Causes a bright green flash and a rushing noise; the curse causes instant death to the victim. There is no known counter-curse or blocking spell (with the exception of the curse striking another spell mid-flight, negating both), although the caster can be interrupted, the victim can dodge the green jet, hide behind solid objects (which burst into flame when hit by it), or, if the casting wizard is not sufficiently competent, the curse may be completely ineffective.**

**Sectumsempra (Unknown Curse)-**

**A dark spell that creates large, blood-oozing gashes on the subject as if said subject had been "slashed by a sword". **

**Crucio (Cruciatus Curse)-**

**Inflicts intense pain on the recipient of the curse. The pain is described as hot knives being driven into you. This curse is affected by the caster's emotions. **

**Animus Claustrum (Spirit Prison)-**

**Imprisons a soul within an object and seals it inside until the object is destroyed or it is willingly released.**

* * *

**//-/Author Note/-//**

**Second chapter is now posted. Like I said before, first time writing a HP fanfic, so any suggestions would be much appreciated. Remember to review and tell me what you think. Until next time.**

**On a separate note, the Animus Claustrum spell is something I made up entirely. The words are in Latin, and the literal meaning of the words are actually Spirit Prison.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the lives of everyone, past, present, and future.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.©**

**Chapter 3- Mission: Relocation and Explanations**

* * *

London; October 31st, 1981: 8:25pm.

* * *

It was odd how some people deal with stressful situations. Some merely ignore the situation altogether and go about their daily business, acting woefully ignorant of what strife they may be going through.

For Lily Potter, that was the exact case.

The moment she had arrived in the rundown flat she was currently occupying, she was confused, scared, and more importantly, worried. Worried about her husband, her child, and the mysterious man who rescued her.

The next thought that she felt was anger. A pure, unrestrained rage at whom she had once thought was a friend, an ally, and more importantly, a member of the small group she had now called family.

Peter Pettigrew.

The man that was now clearly exposed to being the betrayer in the Order, the man that Dumbledore had showed concerns about and mistakenly accused Lupin of being.

At the thought of the man, guilt immediately made its way into her heart.

She was not willing to believe that Remus J. Lupin, one of her husband's childhood friends, would ever betray them. To be frank, she wasn't willing to believe that any of them would have the potential to ever betray them or the Order. But Dumbledore had made it clear that out of the group, Remus had the most to gain form joining Voldemort. With him in power, the Lycan species would finally gain the rights they were denied for centuries. Equality, status within the magical world as individuals, not as savage animals.

She had argued with Dumbledore's assessment, stating that out of the whole entire Order, Remus was the one risking his life, day in and day out under the constant watch of Fenir Greyback. If anybody would be selling the Order out, the last person on that list would be Remus.

She was shocked and surprised when James had agreed with the assessment, even more so when Remus agreed to have no contact with the Potters until the spy was successfully identified and caught. The only one who truly opposed the idea was Sirius, whom stated that they were fighting injustice, not delivering it to their own.

It was at that point where Remus stated that while he was not happy with the accusations, he understood them. Rather then fight the accusations, he would abide by the restrictions, proving that he was not the spy.

Nobody liked it, most of all Lily, who made her stance clear in regards to the equal rights of all magical beings everywhere, but alias, they agreed.

It was at that time where Dumbledore revealed to them that Voldemort had taken a particular interest in them. Not only them, but their recently born child as well, Harry James Potter. The reason specifically was in regards to a Prophecy that was given to him, one specifically stating that the one who would defeat the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July.

That left only two options. Her son Harry, or that of her friend and coworker Alice Longbottom and her son, Neville.

Evidently, the choice was made if the events of tonight were any indication.

Her thoughts were broken by a small 'pop', quickly followed by her shooting to her feet, looking directly into the man's eyes, which she noted absentmindedly were two different colors. His right was a sapphire blue and his left was a crimson red.

Glancing at her through the corner of his eyes, Danail noted how Lily immediately clutched her son to her chest, her knuckles turning white under the pressure she had on her son's blanket.

"You alright?"

Lily, if anything, seemed to stiffen further, but was able to give a curt nod before she allowed a simple "Yes" to escape her lips.

Rolling his eyes at her behavior, but mentally proud that she wasn't as trusting as he was originally lead to believe, Danail rolled his right sleeve up, revealing his forearm to her line of sight.

"No mark, see? Now due try to relax, won't you?"

Despite the biting sarcasm that he had used, Lily did seem to relax before she started to look at him, her emerald eyes glowing in absolute curiosity and trepidation.

Gesturing for Lily to sit, Danail removed his overcoat before sitting it down on the table before placing his metallic arm on the table.

Pressing his finger on a small latch in his arm, Danail watched as the latch gave a loud hiss before it clicked off, allowing him to pull it aside and reveal its contents.

Lily, whom had taken the seat on the right side of the desk, finally realized that the man had a mechanical limb.

A highly advanced mechanical limb that she was sure didn't even exist, and if it did, must have cost him over £1,000,000.

Inside the man's arm was a the usual clutter of wires she would expect to find, but they were tightly bound around three rods that connected to a piston each. The piston itself seemed to travel back towards the base of the man's elbow, where she saw what looked like a motor of sorts.

While not a mechanic, her father had his fair share of knowledge concerning automobiles, and while not sure if this was anyway similar to that of a car, was willing to bet that the motor was a means to move his arm.

Upon further inspection, Lily found a single glass tube that led to the man's hand, which was still covered by the metal casing, in the very center of the arm's interior that she had previously overlooked. Inside it was a black fog or cloud of sorts, that seemed to be in constant motion. She caught a few times a pair of red gleaming dots that resembled eyes, but wasn't positive on what they were.

The only thing she could really say was when they landed on her for a brief moment, she felt dirty, filthy. It was enough to make her want to take a shower and scrub herself raw.

Breaking her train of thought, Lily pondered on what question she should ask the man, a dozen or so jumping immediately to mind, a few centering around the man's appendage as it currently held her attention.

Opening her mouth, Lily was about to ask when she thought better of it. Such extensive replacement could only mean that it had to be something incredibly dangerous, if not personal. And she had more tact then that, raised better then that as her mother, bless her soul, would do doubt say.

Instead, she opted to ask whom he was and what he was doing at her home.

"To answer your first question, my name is Danail Aleksandur. I am not part of the Order of the Phoenix, nor am I a Death Eater. I'm from the future."

At Lily's incredulous look, Danail gave an indifferent shrug.

"Believe me if you want, it doesn't matter. I'm telling you the truth."

Still not believing him, though willing him the grace of explaining himself as she owed him that much, Lily indicated for him to continue.

"In my time, 2037, the world you know, live in, has been dead for about twelve years. The Dark Lord is in control of all of magical and non-magical Britain, his influence spreading across the world. November 15th, 2025, he had gained a group of followers under the ruse of leading a revolution for the betterment of all magical beings, a revolution that both my parents took an active part in."

Frowning, Danail summoned a wrench to his hand from a discard toolbox before placing it inside his metallic arm, giving a grunt of discomfort before he started to loosen the bindings holding the glass tube in his arm.

"They were doing small things, nothing of real importance to gain the attention of the Ministry. Protests, fundraising, marches. Your standard means of protest that were perfectly legal and ignored as on par with the Ministries standards. What they didn't know was that the Dark Lord had been colluding alongside former Death Eaters Dark Creatures, such as the Vampires and Dementors."

Pulling the wrench out and removing the bolts that held the tubing, Danail gave a small growl as the tubing started to shake, the fog inside it starting to react violently to his touch as he grabbed it.

"Nasty little bugger isn't he?"

Still giving him a slightly guarded look, Lily gave a small shrug of her shoulders before she said nonchalantly, "I suppose. What is it?"

Smirking, Danail placed the tube down, watching with a faint trace of glee as the fog started to thrash itself on its prison, trying in a feeble attempt to free itself.

"Voldemort."

At her startled look, Danail's smirk turned into a provocative grin. "Yep, little shit is nothing more then an annoying little spirit, a dybbuk if we want to get technical."

Grabbing the tube and shaking it around, Danail released a small laugh as Voldemort started to throw himself against the walls even harder then before, his anger becoming more obvious with every strike.

Placing the tube back onto the table, Danail continued with his story before Lily could question him on how he got Voldemort's soul imprisoned in a enclosed tube.

"After a year or so, the Dark Lord soon gathered enough funds from his followers and creatures before he laid a siege on the Ministry. He succeeded where others had failed. In one fowl swoop, the man had taken over the Ministry of Magic before publicly killing the Minister at the time, Susan Bones, in front of those in Diagon Alley."

For the first time since the conversation started, Lily found her voice, shouting, "Susan Bones? Little Susan? Amelia's niece?"

Nodding his head, Danail muttered, "Same one. Tried to set an example too. Didn't even blink, nor show any sign of fear before the Dark Lord snuffed her. Thought that if she showed she wasn't afraid of dying, that others would follow her example. Would rise up and fight. Woman didn't even realize how incompetent most of magical Britain was, and even at that point, it was too late to stop him."

Pulling another tubing from his pants pocket, which Lily noted where tattered and oversized, Danail placed it inside his arm, no doubt as a replacement.

"During the attack on the Ministry, he had a whole legion of Dementors invaded Hogwarts. It wasn't a battle that took place there, it was a slaughter. Parents, whom arrived to grab their children following the Minister's death, found them either dead or mindless husks, no longer feeling, no longer truly alive. Aurors, whom Susan had managed to order to evacuate the school before he capture, found the school in utter turmoil as teachers and students alike feel side by side, some dying a valiant death, others, a less favorable one."

Turning his eyes towards her, Danail debated with himself before he said emotionlessly, "Your son was one of the Aurors who arrived at the scene. He watched as his daughter, your granddaughter, Lily Luna Potter, have her very soul sucked out of her. To make matters worse, she survived the encounter. Unable to take the guilt, aided by the Dementor's natural ability to neutralize any happy memories or thoughts, Harry placed his wand on his temple before muttering the killing curse. He died, collapsing into his now soulless daughter's arms."

Grabbing the wrench, Danail started to place the bolts back into their proper positions, ignoring the silent sobs that were racking through the woman's body.

"The Dark Lord immediately took over both Hogwarts and the Ministry in one blow. Nothing could stop him. As this wasn't an international affair, and seeing as the Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards was dead, him being Neville Longbottom, the Dark Lord appointed himself as Minister of Magic, Chief Warlock, and Headmaster. He was in complete, and total control of magical Britain within only a single day."

Ignoring her gasp of shock, Danail continued. "The Dark Lord is actually Albus Servers Potter, your descendant."

Giving the toddler across the room on the couch a very pointed look, Danail stated in a monotone, "Your grandson to be more precise."

Noticing her look of utter grief and increase in sobbing, Danail silently cast with his real hand a Cheering Charm, noticing immediately that the grief look on her face lessen, her sobs now turning into small whimpers. While not a vast improvement, he felt that it would do for the moment.

Returning to repairing his arm, Danail said softly, "I was sent by my commander and mentor, Hermione Jane Weasley nee Granger to this moment in time with explicit instructions to protect you and your son. I was also handed a blacklist consisting of the names of individuals that I was ordered to kill on sight or dispose of in some form or manner. Names that you are familiar with are Fenrir Greyback, Lucius Malfoy, Dolores Umbridge, Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix LeStrange, and Barty Crouch Jr."

While still shocked and sadden by the news that her own grandchild would one day take over all of magical Britain, Lily's head quickly shot up at the last name.

"Barty Crouch's son? He's a Death Eater?!"

Danail nodded his head in reply.

"He, as well as Bellatrix LeStrange, her husband Rodolphus and brother-in-law Rabastan were captured and charged for the illegal use of the Cruciatus Curse upon both Franklin and Alice Longbottom. Barty would escape with the aid of his father some thirteen years later, only to return to his master and aid in his resurrection. He was later given the Kiss following his capture."

Giving a small grunt as he tightened the last bolt, Danail uncaringly threw the wrench aside before closing the latch, placing his covering pack in place.

"In my time, Rodolphus and Rabastan both receive lifelong imprisonment back in Azkaban, only to be freed upon the Dark Lord's coup de main upon the Ministry. Together, they become leading Lieutenants in his grand army, under the Division of S.A.D, Search and Destroy. It was their job to quell any future uprisings, dealing with whatever insurrections that popped up. Bellatrix was killed during the Second War, only to be resurrected through means of an deadly and extremely dangerous ritual through means of the ancient text from Egypt, The Book of the Dead. Her sprit was placed in that of a new host, specifically one who shared the same blood with her. His choice came in the form of his sister, who at the time, didn't have a soul. She would later undergo another ritual where her old body was recreated, similar to how Voldemort would regain his body in Harry's fourth year. Afterwards, she would become his Second in Command, and eventually his mistress."

Danail watched as disgust and anger flashed across Lily's face, which only seemed to increase with every word that came afterward.

Taking a deep breath and trying to calm her wayward emotions, which in reality did very little for her, Lily recalled him saying Snape's name, and while she ended their friendship back in her fifth year, was still concerned about him, despite the hurtful thing he had said to her.

"You said Snape's name was on the list. What about him?"

It was at this point that Lily saw a flash of what looked to be sympathy, maybe pity, she wasn't sure, but it was gone just as quickly as it had came.

"Severus Snape was the one whom sold Voldemort the Prophecy, stating that it was in reference to you and your husband. The reason he came to this conclusion was because James was the bane of his very existence, and the one thing keeping the two of you together. As compensation for his aid, he asked for you to be spared, your mind altered to fit his needs as a sex slave and spouse. In the original timeline, Voldemort did not keep his word, instead simply killing you before aiming to kill your son. He failed. His curse rebounded on him, destroying his body before his soul, vulnerable and weak, fled."

Pausing for effect, Danail continued by saying, "Though the curse ripped his soul from his body, Voldemort did not die. The reason being that due to the prophecy, he was spared such a fate. Unfortunately, due to the man's twisted nature, he created what is known as a Horcrux."

"Horcrux? What's that?"

Danail smiled a bit. Even with the events that she had gone through tied in with his explanations, the woman still somehow was able to show her true nature as a woman who thirsted for knowledge.

"A Horcrux is a piece of a person's soul. Through the means of the ultimate evil, murder, one can break their soul into pieces. One piece per murder. A spell is used to then seal that part of your soul into an object, thereby granting you the closet thing that the magical world has to immortality. Ideally, for every piece that you break off, you lose a little bit more of your essence, of who you are essentially. The means in which to separate a soul and imprisoning it, and keeping separate from oneself is what causes you to lose yourself. If, lets say, were to keep it on your person, such as on a chain for instance, then one wouldn't lose him or herself. The spirit, though still sealed within the object, still pushes itself on the host, making it feel what it feels, trying to take over. If the same soul resides in the body however, it will flow with it, while not in perfect sequence, won't deter their humanity in any shape or form."

Reaching into his matted and torn shirt, Danail pulled out from his neck a gold chain that had an hourglass attached to it. While it was filthy and looked as if it had been repaired by hand many times before, she could see that instead of sand in the hourglass, it held a green smog, similar to the one that was known as Voldemort.

"Is that a…?"

"Horcrux? Yes, more specifically mine. I don't have a lot of them, only three to be exact, the soul encompassing my body being one of them. They are a insurance policy that I carry around with me. I originally had four, but I died during duty, and while nobody knew that I created Horcrux, they left my body where it laid. It took four days for my Horcrux to take over my body completely, and another month in recovery before I was fit to be placed back into service. Suffice to say, Hermione wasn't happy with me."

Lily felt her curiosity sparkle at the name.

"Hermione? You keep mentioning her, but you never explained who she was. Who is she?"

Danail's mood slightly dimmed. "Hermione Granger was my mentor and friend. She was a mother, confident, and on a few occasions, a comfort. With her, I remembered my humanity, remembered that I was still a feeling, living being, not just a murder, not just a solider."

It was here that a small, sad smile graced his features. "I hadn't cried since my parents' were killed, used as an example for what would happen to those that were 'impure'. After the death of a woman I felt strongly for, she consoled me. I cried, in front of her, for the first time in almost a decade. She didn't begrudge me, call me weak, or mocked me. She just rubbed her hand on my back and sang a song to me, something that her mother had sung to her whenever she was upset as a child. She in everything but blood, became my mother. Even though she never told me, she loved me. And I loved her, still love her. I still love my parents, and on occasion miss them, but I know that given the option of seeing them or Hermione, I would always, first and foremost, choice Hermione. She was my only stability in a world where evil was at every corner. I'd like to think, that in some way, I had the same effect on her she did me."

Following his small seech, Lily remained quiet, mulling over what he had just said. For a man whom so willing used the Dark Arts and killed the most darkest and most powerful wizard of the age, second only to Albus Dumbledore, he seemed pretty sane. Detached maybe, and perhaps a bit cynical, but perfectly sane.

"And what about your mission? What are specifically supposed to do other then protect myself and Harry?"

With his eyes narrowing and his posture straightening as an aura of authority and power surrounded him, Danail said resolutely, "I am here to merely prepare Harry for the war. Anything concerning Voldemort's hidden locations for his Horcruxes I cannot help you with. I don't have any of the knowledge regarding their location. I understand the way they work, what potential they have, and the means to destroy them however."

With her mind registering what he had just said, Lily realized to her absolute horror, that Voldemort was still alive, and most likely to have dozens, maybe even hundreds of Horcrux hidden around all of magical Britain. Maybe even all of Europe! That brought on the thought of Harry and the Prophecy, which only led her to the thing that Danail had said in response to her question.

"_I am here to merely prepare Harry for the war."_

Her fear and anxiety quickly turned to absolute panic.

Seeing Lily's look of absolute distress, Danail felt a trickle of sympathy enter his heart before he scowled.

The feeling was so…foreign to him. He hadn't felt sorry for anybody in a long time. He didn't even feel sorry about Victorie losing her husband, rather he was more worried about what she would be going to go through in terms of emotional pain.

He snapped out of his thoughts as Lily started to beg if he had any clue, any idea as to where they were. Realizing that she was talking about the Horcruxes, Danail mentally snorted and wondered for a vague moment if the woman was even listening to him a few seconds ago.

Turning his head slowly towards her, his eyes looking at her blankly, Danail said, "I don't have any idea as to where they are, as I have already stated a few minutes ago."

Pausing and registering the look of utter loss and pain on her face, Danail muttered, "But I do have a piece of his soul currently in hand. I can use it possibly to track the others, but I can't promise anything. There is no doubt in my mind that Voldemort more then likely safeguarded his Horcrux in secure locations with Anti-Tracking Wards in place."

Seeing that his promise appeased the woman, Danail turned his attention back to the glass tube, before he muttered an incantation, the tube now turning to a jar. After placing an Unbreakable Charm on it, Danail decided to annoy the man's soul, through means of shaking the jar, rolling it, and slamming it repeatedly onto the table. All of it was under the pretense of making sure that the charm would work of course, much to Lily's amusement.

Placing the jar back on the table and giving the screaming soul piece a smirk, Danail turned his head to Lily before he murmured, "Sleep."

With her eyes suddenly feeling heavy, Lily gave a half-hearted nod before she fell to her side, her breathing evening as she fell into a deep sleep.

'_The miracle of a Compulsion Charm.'_

Picking her off the floor bridal style, Danail walked to the nearby couch before waving his hand, transfiguring the couch into a queen sized four-poster bed. Placing her inside with a tenderness he didn't know he still had, Danail tucked her in, watching with a small faint of amusement as she snuggled deeper into the covers, causing him to recollect on the few moments he had done something similar to this with Hermione.

At the thought of his leader, he turned his head cryptically towards the sleeping child, the same child that his Leader had claimed to love dearly, both as a brother and a lover.

The same child whom would one day spawn the man responsible for his parents' deaths, for Victorie's death, and for his lack of an arm and eye.

Clenching his metallic hand into a fist, Danail smirked.

'_Hell, maybe I should actually thank him for that last one.'_

Ridding the child from his mind for now, or at least thoughts on the boy's future son, Danail pulled his list from his inside coat pocket before unfolding it, conjuring a red marker before drawing a straight line through one of the names that needed to be, 'taken care of'.

With his smirk widening, Danail placed the list back in his pocket before he disapparited with a silent 'pop', murmuring, "Ready or not Mr. Pettigrew…here I come!"

* * *

London; October 31st, 1981: 10:15pm.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew pushed another garbage bin out of his way, stumbling as he eyes tracked the curse that flew over his head, slamming into the nearby wall of the alley, leaving a small smoldering crater in its wake.

Giving a small whimper upon discovering the curse thrown at him was the Killing Curse, Peter redoubled his effort to escape the man, trying in another desperate attempt to Disapparite, only to be rebuffed by an Anti-Disapparition Ward that the man had placed over the area. And with his wand in the man's current hands, Peter could only give another sob as he realized he was at the end of his rope.

Turning a corner, the cowardly rat as he was often called during his life, ran down the alley, discovering to his eminent horror, that it was a dead end.

Pushing his legs forward, and cathing himself as he stumbled, Peter quickly hid behind a small row of garbage bins, praying to whatever god that may exist to save his miserable life.

That, or his master answered his call when he had activated the Dark Mark. He did, after all the pain he went through in becoming a spy for the Order, owe him a reward.

And what better reward then to live to see another day?

As Peter felt his breathing started to regulate, he listened as his predator walked down the alley, a small tune playing on his lips as he calmly made his way further down towards his hiding spot.

* * *

I just got down from the Isle of Skye.

I'm not very big but I'm awful shy.

The lassies shout as I walk by,

"Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

Peter felt a trickle of sweat work its way down the side of his head as the man continued making his way towards him, not even bothering to use a tracking charm, something that would indefinitely find him seeing as he shared the same essence with his wand.

No, he just kept walking forward, towards him, almost as if he already knew where he was, where he was hiding, where he'd run.

And by the twisted smile on his face, which caused Peter to feel a shiver of disgust and fear run down his spine, that this man was enjoying that knowledge.

******************************

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low.

Through the streets in my kilt I'll go.

All the lassies cry, "Hello!

Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

Landing on his rear from the sudden disappearance of the trash bin his hiding behind, Peter looked up at the man whom had been chasing him for the better part of the past hour, twirling his wand idly in his hand, a small smile on his face as he continued to sing.

* * *

I went to a fancy ball.

It was slippery in the hall.

I was afeared that I may fall,

Because I nay had on trousers.

* * *

Peter screamed. He screamed so loud he was sure his vocal cords were torn apart, and even then he somehow managed to cry out even louder. The pain, this pain was unbearable. It wasn't torturous, it wasn't agony. Just pure, unrestrained pain. Pain that not even his master could inflict, the source coming from his own wand.

The very same wand that he used to swear that he would never disclose the information regarding Lily and James' home in Godric Hallow.

An oath he had broken, and seemed to be coming back to haunt him.

* * *

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low.

Through the streets in my kilt I'll go.

All the lassies cry, "Hello!

Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

His torture under the Cruciatus Curse didn't last long before the man decided to switch tactics. Now using a Diffindo, the man cut each and every one of Peter's fingers before moving onto his toes. He did slowly, leisurely, with a note of mirth in his eyes that he had only seen in Bellatrix LeStrange. But her eyes showed nothing but insanity, a deranged look of absolute lunacy that nobody could hope to match, seconded only to the eyes of his Master.

This man however…

His eyes were just as deranged, just as crazed, with an equal amount of insanity, maybe even more so then his Lord's, that shinned within. They were matched however, but just as much intensity of coldness, determination, and sheer will.

A look of a man with all his sanity intact. The look of a man whom knew exactly what he was doing.

And enjoying it.

That thought alone only renewed the screaming.

* * *

"The lassies love me, every one.

But they must catch me if they can.

You cannot put the breeks on a highland man, saying,

"Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

He was bathed in his own blood, and lots of it. His clothes, face, hair, everything. It was a miracle his was still alive.

Glancing at his torturer with a hint of a whimper at his lips, Peter watched as the man seemed to smile at the sound, taking a perverse pleasure from his pain.

Aiming his wand back at him, the man cast another spell, this one blowing his right fingerless hand, obliterating it to utter pieces, chunks of burned and charred flesh splaying everywhere.

He cried out in anguish, only to be matched by the man's laughter as he continued to sing.

His laughter that reminded him eerily of his Master.

* * *

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low.

Through the streets in my kilt I'll go.

All the lassies cry, "Hello! Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

The song Peter realized, was an old Irish folklore. Why this thought had come to him now of all times, he wasn't sure.

His thoughts were cut short as the man shot a high powered Reducto curse, this time removing his left shin before he cast a Inncendio, burning his now stump of a leg, burning the wound close.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His vocal cords had long ago stopped functioning, no doubt damaged beyond repair from all the screaming he had done earlier.

His tears trailed down his blood and dirt smudged cheeks, his breathing now hard and labored.

The man frowned at the tears, his tune still playing merrily from his lips before he aimed his wand straight at his face.

* * *

I went down to London Town,

To have a little fun in the underground.

The Ladies turned their heads around, saying,

"Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

Peter laid there on the ground, unmoving, for the most part unfeeling. Using what mediocre Occlumency that he knew, Peter had blocked out all thoughts of pain, making himself effectively numb to everything around him.

This left him alone to his thoughts as the man started to come up with new means of prolonging his anguish.

He wasn't sure if he was still smiling or not, he needed eyes for that, eyes that the man had so gallantly removed from his skull via a summoning charm.

All he knew for certain that he was stilling singing a song that Peter had grown to take comfort in over the progression of his torture.

It sounded familiar somehow…

* * *

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low.

Through the streets in my kilt I'll go.

All the lassies cry, "Hello! Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

Peter convulsed violently on the ground. Blood spurting from his lips as he chocked, his lungs filling up with his own blood.

The man had grown board with the conventional means of torture, and instead had gone to unconventional means.

Those means being muggle and magical alike.

Going from electric shock to skinning the fat off his bones, to dumping boiling eater over his body and wounds, to casting several bone breaking spells on various parts of his body, the man did it all, still singing that song.

A song that during Peter's last moments of life, remembered where he had heard it from. He had initially believed it was from his mother, probably during his infant years.

He was partially right. It was during an infant's years, but it wasn't his.

It was the boy whom his Lord had went to kill. It was sung to him by the very woman that Peter had loved, secretly due to the attention that her husband, and later after joining the Death Eaters, Snape, held for her.

It was a song that Lily had sung to Harry every time before he went to bed, every time he had cried every single _bloody_ time that accursed child was even _near _him. A song that she would sing to him whilst glaring at him sharply, _blaming _him for the tears her child had shed.

The very song that brought him comfort during his torture in the end was his own undoing, due to his own selfishness and greed that encompassed his heart.

It was fitting that the manner he died was having to, by his murder's own joyous words, "Eat your heart out."

* * *

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low.

Through the streets in my kilt I'll go.

All the lassies cry, "Hello! Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

"Donald, Where's Your Trousers?"

* * *

Looking down at the mangled and unrecognizable corpse of what was once Peter Pettigrew, Danail let a small smile come across his face. After all, its been so long since he tortured a prisoner, he was afraid he may have been getting a little rusty.

'_Nope'_, he thought with his smirk widening. _'Still got it.'_

With a flick of his wrist, Danail silently cast the Dark Mark into the air, hanging above the alley before he snapped Peter's wand in half, setting the pieces on fire in the progress.

With a another flick of his wrist, Danail removed the disillusionment charm placed over the rat's arm, revealing Voldemort's brand in all its glory.

Danail smiled.

'_I guess the poor rat's mother may just die of a heart attack. Oh well.'_

With a near silent 'pop', Danail disappeared, ready to kill his next objective.

Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

**//-/Author Note//-/**

**I finally posted another chapter. Now before you get too excited, I need to tell you all that I have created a poll on my profile. This poll consists of all my stories minus one titled What Should Have Been. This one I am going to continue to work on, but I have room to fit two more stories in with it. If you want me to continue this now and not leave it until a later date, then remember to vote. You select up to two stories and the results will be given after the poll closes on July 8****th****, at 11:45 PM.**

**Now to close this little piece, remember to hit the review button and tell me what you think. I need some feedback people! Criticism is welcomed by the way.**

**Bye! ;P**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the lives of everyone, past, present, and future.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.©**

**WARNING; RATING CHANGED TO M FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, LANGAUGE, AND VERY DARK THEMES.**

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* * *

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**//-/Author's Note//-/**

**Hello, The Cursed And Torn, at your service! I know its been a long time since my last update, but with my exams coming up and playing victim to the plague known as Writers Block, I could barely lift a finger to type. Now with all that said and done, and regaining my creative genes back, I can finally write once more and update. As a treat, I'm going to try and have a new chapter written out for each of my stories, deciding that I should make up for the long wait.**

**Other then that, a warning is written below, and after that, the chapter!**

* * *

**There are several dark themes in this chapter. So if you are light of heart, or not old enough to read some of the heavier aspects of the world, then leave now. Rating is changed for a reason after all.**

**Now, other then another note on the bottom, that is all for now. Read, enjoy, and delve into the confines of my imagination and mind.**

…

**You all are so scarred for life…**

* * *

Chapter 4- Mission: Getting Away With Murder

* * *

Malfoy Manor; November 1st, 1981: 12:05PM…

* * *

Danail felt a feral grin spread across his lips as he moved stealthy through the shadows, the Master Bedroom only a few meters before him.

It was fairly easy breaking into the man's home. News of his master's death would have normally put the Malfoy Head on alert, possibly warding his house against all intrusions. But not in this case, not today. Lucius had immediately following the news, went straight to the Ministry, to Fudge to be more précised, pleading innocence, claiming to be under the Imperious Curse.

Fudge, the ever tactical individual, accepted his plea, with his back pocket no doubt filled with a few extra hundred Gallons.

He needed to remember to make that fool's death extra torturous.

'_Useless waste of flesh and blood if you ask me.'_

Pausing outside the man's bedroom, Danail quickly used '_Specialis Revelio'_, checking the doors for any hidden charms or enchantments. Other then the standard Anti-Burglar Charm and Perimeter Charm, nothing else seemed present.

Deactivating the charms, Danail stepped inside the room, noting immediately the dreary décor, the walls a shade of gray, the furniture a color of puce green. Truly nauseating he realized.

Walking over to the large queen sized mattress, Danail saw only one figure lying in it, a curtain of blonde hair splayed upon the pillow their head was lying on.

Stepping towards the person quietly, Danail silently cast a _'Lumos'_, an orb of light forming in his hand as he approached the bed. He gave a small sigh as the face of Narcissa Malfoy shinned before him, her features unblemished and youthful, untainted from the years of being tied to Lucius Malfoy.

'_And she did teach me about intention when using the Unforgivable Curses…'_

Looking to the dresser beside the mattress, Danail frowned at the empty goblet and vial lying there, recognizing the concoction to be the Draught of Death. The woman had become dependant on that potion since her son's early years, always needing it to sleep at night. He guessed it had something to do with her guilty conscious and regret in marrying Lucius.

'_Hopefully…that potion won't be needed after tonight.'_

Turning his head to the other end of the room, Danail noted a lone crib laying in the corner in the room, and he instinctively clenched his fist.

Draco Malfoy. Father of Scorpius Malfoy, the Headmaster of the Institution, and the murder of his parents. It would be so easy to end the child's life. Just a causal flick of his wrist, and the child's throat would be slit. Add a little more force in it, and he could decapitate him within seconds.

Gripping his arm in an act to restrain himself, Danail violently shook his head. Narcissa had told him that her only joy and happiness in life had been her son. Despite the way he acted, despite his cruel mannerisms that he had picked up from his father, she loved him. She loved him and always would love him.

And it took Narcissa on her death bed, a look of utter loss on her face as neither her son or grandson stood at her side when she finally passed from the living world to make Danail not go with his initial instinct to kill the child.

He owed Cissy that much at least.

Moving away from the room before resetting the protective charms around it, Danail raised his hand, his palm facing him before he softly muttered, "Point Me."

Instantly, a red arrow appeared in his hand, pointing directly down.

Using the Malfoy Manor as a base in his former timeline, Danail knew that below him was the parlor room and the basement. Below that was the dungeon area, a hidden area blocked off by several series of wards that took several weeks to break.

His eyes widened a bit as he remember what exactly was find in that area, and didn't even bother with the stairs, instead blasting a hole in the ground, allowing him to fall down to the parlor room.

Making his way to the basement area beyond a storeroom in the kitchen area, Danail jumped the last few steps and the landing before making his way to the hidden entrance. Fortunately for him, and rather unfortunately for Lucius, the wards were done, indicating that the elder Malfoy was obviously 'servicing' somebody.

The thought alone got his blood boiling as he quickly stepped inside the passage, running down the dark damp hall, murder in his eyes and heart.

The reason being that while the Malfoy Family was rich, it got most of its money from an underground, illegal servicing business that Lucius created as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts. And its profits only rose during the entire progression of the war.

For what Lucius Malfoy did in his spare time was called 'Human Trafficking'. His own 'professional' business came in the form of a brothel. One for older men and women whom had similar unhealthy interests to that of Mr. Malfoy.

Pedophilia.

At the time that they had finally organized a proper examination of the dungeon area, what they found horrified them.

Dead bodies of children, ranging from three to eleven years of age, were all locked up in canals or cages, chained to the walls or bound by rope, most if not all in a provocative position that at the time to Danail, whom was only sixteen at the time, made him want to vomit.

Ledgers were found of the children's names, heritage, majority of them muggle, and customers, past, present, and possibly future candidates. Some names came as no surprise, such as Fenrir Greyback. Others, such as Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge, did. The last appointment Lucius had involved one Severus Snape. The date was that of legendary battle that was fought in the Department of Mysteries. After that, the ledger seemingly stopped, which indicated Lucius' capture and arrest. He never returned to his business, instead leaving the children, and all possible links to his crimes buried in basement of his home.

He condemned innocent children to death, converting his home into a mass grave. After that, Danail vowed to avenge those lives lost from the man's actions, no matter the cost.

It would seem that today, Danail would finally get his chance.

Stopping as he neared a large oak door, Danail gave a wave of his hand, canceling all protection charms around the door before opening it.

Beyond the door was a long narrow hall, just like he remembered, cage doors on either side of him. Unlike his previous visit however, instead of the horrid smell of rotting flesh and sight of dead, decaying corpses hanging off the walls, Danail was greeted by the smell and sight of blood, pain, and agony. While not pleasant, it meant one thing.

Suffering. And in order for one to suffer, one must be alive. That was good enough for him.

Moving past the cages and sealed doors, ignoring the terrified and looks of utter hopelessness that he was receiving from the captive children, Danail made his way to the other end of the hall, hearing the sound of voices inside, laced with sadistic joy.

Cracking the door open slightly, Danail found Lucius Malfoy in all his glory standing not five feet away from the door, a large, slightly balding man wearing a set of mangy robes talking adamantly with him. The balding man was covered in sweat, that much was evident as the man's robes clung to his misshapen form. The sight angered him, knowing full well what had transpired here only moments ago.

Danail didn't even hesitate. Aiming his hand, he fired a enhanced _'Sectumsempra'_, giving a small growl of satisfaction as the spell made contact with the Lucius' legs, hacking them off.

To the man's credit, Lucius did not scream right away. His eyes had widened considerably, his mouth working soundlessly as he fell to the ground, his 'client' watching with considerable amount of fear and revulsion. That was the look that was permanently itched on the man's face as a bright green light struck him in the chest, causing him to collapse onto the ground, dead.

It was then that the screaming started. Out of fear, pain, or possibly both, Danail wasn't sure. To be honest, he really didn't care. The man was screaming, that was good enough for him.

Stepping out of the shadows, Danail smiled brazenly, taking in the fear that radiated from the man that was currently gazing at his legs that were currently a few feet away from his position on the ground.

"Lucius Malfoy?"

At his name, Lucius looked at him, his grey eyes dilated, his breathing labored, as he pulled his wand from the depths of his blood matted robes.

Summoning his wand towards him, Danail didn't even allow the shock to register before placing a _'Crucio'_ on him, relishing in the screams that erupted from his throat.

After a few minutes of torture, Danail released the curse, watching as Lucius' breaths came out in weak gasps.

He smiled as his eyes closed.

"Lucius. Dear, poor, Lucius."

He whimpered, trying desperately to get away from him, despite the handicap in having stumps for legs.

Opening his eyes, Danail gave a small primal growl as he snarled, "Well, well, well! We are in trouble, now aren't we?"

Lucius whimpered again, this time able to speak as he begged for his life.

"What do you want?! Money?! Power?! Women?! I can give you anything, but please-!" Screaming once again, Lucius felt something hard strike his jaw, breaking it.

Bending down so he was eyelevel with the mutilated man, Danail made a 'tsk, tsk' sound, waving his finger in front of his face. "Ah, ah, ah. Now Lucius, I thought begging was beneath you. Now what would your wife think if she saw you like this? What would your son think?"

Evidently taking it the wrong way, Lucius croaked out, blood leaking from his lips as he spoke, "M-m-my w-wife?! You can have her! Take her, do what you will! M-my son as well! Just please, don't-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Releasing Lucius' left eye from his grasp, Danail watched the pitiful sight before him wail in agony, blood pooling from his eye socket and down his face.

With his sapphire eye changing to ice blue, and his red eye deepening in color, similar to blood, Danail whispered lowly, his voice cold and deadly, "I knew you were a ruthless man Lucius Malfoy. I knew that you held yourself above all others, but to the extent of sacrificing your wife, your son? Your own kin!?"

A black thick aura started to rise around him, and Lucius could only flinch as Danail reached into his robes, pulling out a small miniature chest. Waving his hand over it, the chest grew, becoming the size of an everyday trunk.

Lucius wouldn't have found this odd under normal circumstances, but this was not normal even to a man of his admittedly questionable pastimes. And to add to his already increasing panic, the box was moving.

Moving and growling.

"Inside this chest Mr. Malfoy, is a form of torture I like to inflict on some of my more…difficult prisoners. By this point, they are in a similar position as you are Lucius. Maimed, weak, but still stubborn, still refusing to succumb."

His eyes narrowed.

"I don't usually use this form, as inhuman as it is, and generally, they die within in seconds, minutes even. But for you Lucius…I will make a exception."

His jaw clenched and his teeth gritted against themselves.

"A very…special exception."

Waving his hand, Lucius felt the pain in his body immediately increase dramatically, and it took everything Lucius had not to scream. Instead, he tried to wait the pain out, thinking that he'd adjust. With what little pride he had left in his mangled body, Lucius Malfoy tried, with every fiber in his being to stay quiet.

It was a lost cause. With each passing second, the pain only increased until Lucius could take no more, and let out a scream of absolute torment and pain, tears streaming from his only eye.

Danail smirked, which turn sadistic as the chest started to rock itself harder, the growling turning into snarls before all out high pitched cries of anguish, which only increased in volume and ferocity as Lucius' cries continued to get louder.

Picking up the former proud Malfoy's missing eye, Danail placed it on the ground a few feet from him before waving his hand over it, a small black wisp of smoke slipping from his fingers and settling itself around it.

Almost immediately it dissipated once it and the eye made contact, only for Lucius' cries to hiccup slightly as his vision returned to him, and with a morbid fascination, watched himself screaming his lungs hoarse.

Tapping the trunk with the tip of Malfoy's wand, the lid flipped open, a sickly withered hand shooting out of it, grabbing the corner of the chest, attempting to pull itself up.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'd like for you to met Ginevra, whom met the unfortunate fate of turning into a flesh eating hag."

With a mop of red hair and a decrypted face revealing itself from the confines of the chest, Danail smiled.

Reaching forward, Danail ran his hand through what was once known as one of the most beautiful witches to ever grace Hogwarts' walls hair, its eyes gazing at Lucius with an unrestrained hunger for flesh and blood.

"You Mr. Malfoy, are about to learn the true meaning of suffering and pain. In a few moments, your body will be my little Gin's next meal."

Pointing to the eye that laid on the stone floor, Danail said with a hint of satisfaction and amusement, "And this single eye piece which is still connected to your magic, will watch this event take place. You Lucius, are going to watch yourself be eaten alive, and its going to be the last thing you ever see."

Releasing her, Danail made his way out of Lucius' dungeon, his blood curdling screams music to his ears.

Arriving back at the prison cells, Danail silently cast a _'Alohomora'_, unlocking the doors, allowing the various children to teeter out, most, if not all, afraid of what would happen to them, some cringing at the cries and primal screams coming from the room that Lucius was currently being ripped apart and ingested.

Pulling out said man's wand, Danail handed it to the oldest child, whom couldn't be older then nine. Dressed in what appeared to be an oversized pillowcase, covered in blood, dirt, and to Danail's utter disgust, semen. The boy's eyes widened as he instinctively took two steps back at the sight of the wand, no doubt used during his stay, only to stop and flinch when Danail seized him by the arm.

"You know what this is, don't you?" At the boy's tentative nod, Danail flashed him what he hoped to be a reassuring smile. "I want you to take this outside and hold it out in front of the curb. Once that is done, a large purple bus will appear. Get inside, and tell the man inside that you want to head to the Ministry of Magic. Tell them you wish to see either Alastor Moody or Amelia Bones, okay? They will get you cleaned up, fed, and taken back to your families."

The boy shakily grabbed onto the wand, his fingers trembling as he held the object that no doubt tortured him mentally and physically in his time spent in Malfoy Manor.

"I-I-is t-the b-b-bad man gone?"

Looking at the small child whom spoke, a young girl no older then four, maybe five, Danail felt a small wave of sympathy hit him.

Her hair, no doubt a once beautiful blond in color, was now matted with dried blood and dirt. Her lips were swollen and ripped open in several areas, with sever looking lacerations on her arms and legs. Her clothes, which wasn't much, had been at one point a white sundress, was now a grayish torn rag, hanging limply over her left shoulder and waist, her stomach and back exposed.

Danail felt a spike of anger as he read the surface thoughts of the young girls mind, finding the horrid memories and pain engraved into her that would never heal, that would serve as a permanent reminder of her time spent down here.

For a moment, Danail let his mind wonder, taking him back to the room where Lucius was currently being held, his hands tearing the man limb from limb before ripping the bastard's worthless heart from his chest and-!

Stopping his train of thought and noticing the frightened look on the girl's face and the other children's, Danail took a deep breath, calling on his Occlumency training, shutting his darker images and thoughts from his mind. For the moment.

After all, he had another few more targets on his list, and a few more deadly ways of killing them. All including varies means of mutilation of course.

A perfect release for someone as…diverse as himself.

He smiled at her.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry. Come here…"

Stepping towards him tentatively, the girl watched with fearful eyes as the man's hands started to glow a dull gray before he placed them on top of her head and back.

Wincing, the girl gave a small whimper, tears falling from her eyes as she felt a searing pain on her back, her skin burning, her memories of her short life flashing before her eyes. Danail for his part, didn't even wince, even with the girl's injuries disappearing from her back and transferring onto his, the mental scaring and emotional trauma vanishing from the confines of her mind.

He remembered vaguely performing this same spell on another child, a girl as well, those many years ago in his old time. His old home. It brought a nostalgic feeling, one of which he shook off as the process reached its finishing stages.

Releasing her, the girl slumped in his arms, sleep taking over.

Picking her up, Danail placed the child in the hands of another, giving him instructions to take care of her and giving him a vial to hand over to Amelia upon their arrival to the Ministry after shortly pulling the memories that he had removed from the girl's mind into the vial.

After escorting the children to the curb and waiting for them to summon the Knight Bus, Danail disappeared with a crack, heading for his next unfortunate victim.

* * *

London; November 1st, 1981: 1:03AM…

* * *

Lily gave a small moan of satisfaction as she rolled to her side, partially under the effects of the magical sleep induced coma that Danail had placed her under earlier. Lily, whom was blissfully unaware of said wizard's departure, and was surprised to find herself on a lovely four-poster bed after a very large 'CRACK' woke her.

Fumbling with the sheets, Lily was able to kick herself free before pushing the curtains to either side, a relieved look on her face when she realized she was still dressed. After that incident involving Sirius, she was never comfortable with someone else undressing her, whether she was awake or not.

James understood that completely, while a little put off, he made great use of the excuse to hex Sirius to oblivion. A fully deserved prank was what he had said, but the truth of the matter was that James was just looking for an excuse to get at Sirius without fear of retribution.

At the thought of her husband, Lily felt her heart break. The man of her life, her one and only love, was gone. Dead. While she had lost both her parents and her in-laws only a few years previously, it didn't make her any less numb to the pain of loss.

Snapping out of her dark depressing thoughts, Lily took a look at Danail, turning slightly pale at all the blood that draped his overcoat.

She turned even paler and fought the urge to vomit as he carried a severed head in his hand, the head's face frozen in a look of absolute terror. Or so she thought. There were to many cuts and deformities that it looked less like a face and more like a pack of badly cut meat with hair.

"Greyback if you wondering."

Startled, Lily looked up slightly, her eyes meeting Danail's tired ones, and she noticed that he seemed to be sagging slightly.

Getting out of the bed hesitantly, Lily walked towards him, a look of confusion and concern on her face.

"What?"

Danail gave her a weak smile. She noted airily that while tired, his smile looked less menacing and more genuine.

"Greyback. The head belonged to Fenrir Greyback. Dead now as you can see."

Placing the man's severed head onto the table beside him, Danail collapsed into the chair he had occupied earlier, his arms falling to either side of him, his head banging off the back of the chair. Letting out a sigh of contentment, Danail closed his eyes, exhaustion taking over.

After all, it wasn't the fight with Greyback that got him tired, but the resulting fight with his pack, his brethren that left him exhausted.

'_Trying to fight a group of thirty or so Lycans…I just know Hermione would have my ass on a gold, jewel oriented platter for that one.'_

Pausing in his thoughts and picturing that scene in his mind, Danail shrugged his shoulders as he realized she probably would have forgone the formalities and killed him the minute she had him in her sights. Wouldn't be the first time.

He definitely regretted telling her that he had created a few 'insurance polices'.

"Who would forgo the formalities and do what?!"

Realizing that he had spoken out loud, Danail wanted to face palm, but found that he simply didn't have the energy. Hell, he didn't even have the energy to make a subtle twitch of his finger. Then again, he had suffered through worse, right?

"Hermione. She would forgo the pleasantries, or at least not drag out the punishment and just get it over with."

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Lily asked hesitantly, "She would…kill you?"

Danail smirked.

"Yes. Did so on three separate occasions. If you behave yourself I may share them with you. Especially the last one, my, that was especially gruesome! The blood, the gore, the burning flesh!"

Covering her ears and turning a shade of white, Lily shook her head venomously, nearly shouting, "No! No, that won't be necessary!"

Bad enough she had to deal with one sadistic, psychopathic solider, but to know what his leader, master, and further more, friend and possible in-law of her son's would do was pushing it.

Seeing Danail's slight smile, Lily slowly lowered her hands from her ears before giving him a small glare.

"Speaking of Hermione, what is she? In the future I mean? Not yours, but my son's. You never explained."

Nodding his head and giving a groan of protest in doing so, Danail forced himself into an upright position in his chair before pulling out a medical syringe from the confines of his overcoat.

"She was known as the brightest witch of the age during her time at Hogwarts, smarter then you believe it or not. Her husband used to say that she was brilliant. Brilliant, but scary."

Reaching into his pocket, Danail pulled a small vial of reddish brown liquid before placing it next to the medical syringe.

Pulling the cap of the syringe with his teeth, Danail pierced the lid of the vial he held, sucking the contents into the tube. Throwing the vial to the side where it shattered on the floor, Danail quickly rolled his sleeve up after placing the syringe between his teeth. Grabbing a wet cloth, he brushed it over the skin of his forearm near the joint of his elbow before pulling the needle from his mouth.

"She graduated in the top of her class with 11 N.E.W.T.S under her belt and a bright future in the Registration of Magical Creatures and later, the Magical Law Enforcement. She married Ronald Weasley and become an in-law to Harry, thus ensuring that they would always be in contact with each other. Personally, in my opinion, I think she was better off single. I saw memories of her husband, both during and after their times in Hogwarts. I was not impressed."

Aiming the needle into the visible vein, Danail spoke, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"Currently, there are twelve uses for Dragon Blood, all of which were found by Albus Dumbledore."

He smiled, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he pushed the needle through his skin and into his veins.

"Hermione found the thirteenth use."

Immediately, following the injection, Danail gave a violent jerk before a cry of agony ripped from his throat. Falling hard onto the ground, Danail gave another agonized scream, this time hunched over, his skin turning pale, sweat breaking over his forehead and visible skin.

"Danail?! Danail what's wrong?!"

Covering his mouth, Danail started to go into a violent coughing fit, only for him to give a violent cough, blood shooting from his mouth as he continued to scream, Lily watching the spectacle with her eyes wide in fright.

Her fear only grew as Danail slowly started to transform before her.

His skin, once slightly pale in color, was slowly turning a dark shade of black, scales growing out of his visible skin. His back curved itself in an odd angle as large spikes shot from their confines of his spine. His hands and feet slowly shaped into claws, his tailbone growing in length as it ripped free from his skin, only for it to grow its own covering before several angled spikes grew from the tip.

With another scream turned primal roar, two giant eight foot wings ripped free from his back, both decayed and bat like in appearance, covered in thick scales. Lily watched in a mixture of amazement and horror as Danail's fangs enlarged, growing in length until they prodded from his upper lips, stopping short a few centimeters of his jaw.

Soon, Danail's screams turned to whimpers which eventually turned to steady breathing. He still remained kneeling on the ground, his breathing slowly returning to normal as Lily cautiously approached him.

Just as she was within a inches from him, Danail jumped to his feet, giving Lily a small fright as he looked as calm and collected as he did only an hour ago, minus the scales and enlarged incisors.

"Damn. I forgot how painful that was."

Flexing his hands a bit, Danail turned towards Lily, noticing with his honed senses her labored breathing and elevated blood patterns.

She was scared. Scared, nervous, shocked, and curious.

So much like Victorié…

Danail scowled at the thought of the woman. She was dead and nothing could change that. Thinking about her just brought on more painful memories that he quite honestly would much rather forget.

Lily allowed a worried frown to grace her face as she saw the scowl that was aimed at her before Danail shook his head and made his way out towards the nearby window, overlooking the dark streets below.

"Danail?"

He stopped before turning his head towards her, a small grin stretching across his lips.

"Don't worry. I'll be back."

As soon as he left with a small pop, Lily went to gather Harry, whom had awoken from the terrible bout of screaming Danail had gone through. Though oddly enough, he hadn't cried once during the event, but merely stared at the scene, a curious expression playing across his face.

She gently rocked him in her arms, more then a million questions running through her mind, all of which could only be answered by the man that left only a few moments ago.

The most important, or rather most intriguing being what in name of Morgana did that man do to himself to change him into cross between a human and a lizard? Of course, the fact that he came from the future should have elevated that, with the fact that one of the brightest, and from what she's heard, sadistic and perhaps mentally unstable witch of the age had a hand in creating that concoction should have snitched it for her.

She really wasn't liking her son's future.

Her thoughts were broken as she heard a loud _CRACK_.

Moving her head in the direction of the sound, Lily felt her mouth drop open as she stared at the two figures she had up to that very moment she thought she'd never see again.

"Remus? Sirius?"

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; November 1st, 1981: 1: 45AM…

* * *

Gripping the man's neck, Danail leveled Severus Tobis Snape's line of sight with his own, a dark smile stretching across his lips.

He watched as the man cowered at the sight of his eyes, his trembling and pale exterior enough indication that the man was truly afraid for his life.

As he should.

Danail wondered for that moment rather briefly, if Severus truly was as important to Dumbledore as Hermione had claimed. Surely the man would have sensed him entering through the castle's wards the moment he stepped onto the grounds? He was practically sweating Dark Magic, its vile nature weaving its way throughout the castle, tainting it.

Oh well. Not like it wouldn't be saturated in it within the next sixty years or so.

Besides that, Dumbledore wasn't even a factor to consider. At best, he was a distraction. At worse, a bug that he would have to crush if he continued to be a pestilence.

And he was fairly good at ridding the world of insects like Dumbledore. And killing, and torturing…

Tightening his grip on the man, whom at this point was too terrified at his morphed appearance to do anything, Danail allowed his eyes, radiating a electric blue and blood red respectively, to narrow as he let a small cackle of delight escape his throat, able to _smell_ the man's fear coming off him in waves.

"Greetings Severus. You have information that I require locked up in that sick, twisted head of yours. So I'm going to give you a choice to willingly lower your shields and all me access and be done with it, or I can rip through and take what I need forcibly, possibly breaking your mind in two. Your choice?"

In a mask of bravado, or arrogance in his own mental shielding, Severus managed to gather the necessary courage to sneer at him, and choke out between haggard breathes, "I think not…you half-blood monstrosity…"

Half-blood? Monstrosity? Danail didn't know if he wanted to scoff or laugh. After all, he had been called much worse. Oh so much worse…

Licking his enlarged canines, Danail growled, "If you won't give me the information willingly…then I will have to retrieve it myself!"

Holding the man's head in place, Danail stared into the reformed Death Eater's eyes before snarling, "Legilimens!"

He stayed in that position, breaking forcibly through Snape's mind,

Releasing his grip on the man's neck, Danail gave the man at his feet a look of absolute disgust. The things in that man's mind…

'_What an absolute waste. Such potential…a shame really.'_

Watching Snape struggling to his feet, pale and shaking, Danail picked him up by his robes once more, slamming him against the wall of his office, his tongue flicking out, licking his lips as he gave Snape a sadistic smile.

Secretly, he was impressed that the man had survived his onslaught. Men older and far more powerful then him had fallen rather quickly when he penetrated their mind in such a fashion.

"Sense, Severus, you had such useful information stuck in that disgusting mess I shudder to call your mind, I won't kill you."

A look of relief passed over Snape's face at the information, only causing the bloodlust in Danail to reach new heights.

"S-so you'll let me go?"

Danail could smell the fear radiating off of him, the desperation in his voice and break in his words making the smile on his face to only grow wider, his eyes narrowing as a deranged look of utter madness flashed within their depths.

It was amazing that a few minutes ago, this man had the nerve to insult him and dare play, act really, as his superior. Now he barely could stand on his own feet, begging pitifully for his life. Or at least, he was going to beg for his life. Soon, so very soon…

Tightening his grip on Snape's robes, Danail raised him higher into the air, now leveling his eyes with his own once more.

"I said I wasn't going to kill you. Who said anything about letting you go?"

Snape's eyes widened in fear as he attempted to reach for the mark on his forearm, no doubt to call for the assistance of his master.

Grabbing his hand, Danail shattered his wrist bone, letting a shiver of absolute delight run down his spine at the sound of the man's cry of pain, which only increased when Danail commenced to twist it, tearing the muscles joints and nerves right out of place.

"Tsk, tsk. You tried to call for help. Not very nice of you to try and invite others to our little party without my consent."

Adjusting his hold on his neck, Danail commenced to squeeze the very life out of him, a look of absolute deranged insanity taking over the his face.

"I think…I need to punish you for that…wouldn't you agree, _Snivillies_?"

"Y-you broke my wrist!"

Danail allowed his tongue to dart out of his mouth and lick his lips. "215 bones in the human body my traitorous friend. That's just one. Imagine what I'm going to do to the rest of them…"

Looking into the man's eyes, Danail forced a large burst of magic through the man's mental shields, shattering them before rampaging through the Potion Master's mind. He brought up every bad, humiliating, cursed memory, feeling and pain to the forefront of his mind. Every horrible feeling was then amplified by his own experiences, putting ever session of torture he had endured from the Dark Lord during his time of captivity, to the feeling of loss and defeat when he had to bury the bloody corpse of another comrade.

Severus had screamed in pain beyond human comprehension for only a second, maybe less, before slumping, his head laying to the side, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

He broke him.

Good. One less piece of trash in the world then.

Dropping the now brain-dead Potions Master to the ground, Danail turned his head away from sight of the mindless man before filtering through his own mind, taking the more useful information before junking the less pleasant memories into a small bin in his mind that he had labeled 'Trash'.

Unlike other Mind Art Masters, Danail organized his mind quite differently from the typical perceptions used. Using Snape as an example, the man had organized his mind like that of a Potions Cabinet. The more useless, trivial information was at the front while the more dangerous, or should he say, _incriminating_ evidence was stored in the back, locked up with a few questionable defenses here and there guarding them.

His mind was, more or less, structured like that of a computer. Or a futuristic computer, the ones used in his time. A side effect of having mechanical parts installed into his brain he was told by Hermione. Apparently, his random body spasms weren't the only effects that the Dark Lord's _Cruico_ had on him.

"Severus!"

Snapping his head to the entrance of the now comatose man's office, Danail felt a snarl trying to work its way out of his throat as Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, one Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick flagging behind.

Why was it that the pests always showed up _after_ he completed his objective?

'_Not like it matters. Greyback's brethren couldn't stop me, so what hope do these fools have?'_

With a fierce anger that pushed his magic out in waves, Dumbledore looked at him, his eyes narrowed, the usual twinkle absent from his eyes.

Danail smiled, his fangs revealing themselves as he turned to face them, his blue and red eye glaring daggers at the man.

"Albus Dumbledore. What…an honor to meet the legend himself. In good health even."

Dumbledore's magic flared as his eyes flickered over to Snape before settling themselves back on Danail.

"I will ask only once. Who are you, and what have you've done to Severus?"

Danail raised his left eyebrow at the question. Or where his eyebrow should have been anyway.

"I would think that would be fairly obvious Dumbledore. If not, then allow me to explain. This pathetic excuse of a man, no, wizard and human being in general, is now a mindless husk. In muggle terms, a vegetable."

Dumbledore looked stunned at what was revealed to him, before he steeled his gaze, his normal twinkling light blue eyes now darkening.

"What?"

He sent the Headmaster a nasty smirk.

"Going deaf at your old age Headmaster? Allow me the grace to repeat myself then. Severus _Bloody_ Snape is no more. Gone, vanished, dead, whatever you want to call him. I destroyed his mind, effortlessly and if I may add, to my immense satisfaction."

Not saying a word while aiming his wand, Dumbledore shot a powerful blasting curse, quickly followed by a pair of stunners from both Filius and Minerva.

Smirking, Danail raised his hand, smacking the curse away to the side, destroying Snape's potions cabinet before grabbing both stunners, pushing his magic through them and sending them back towards the Head of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, watching with a small hint of satisfaction as the spells broke through the shields they had hastily created, knocking them unconscious.

Turning his eyes towards Dumbledore, whom seemed shocked at the utter display of power he had shown, Danail decided to kick it up a notch.

'_It is Albus Dumbledore after all…'_

Opening his mouth wide, Danail took in a deep inhalation of air before he exhaled, a burst of fire erupting from his mouth, hiding straight for the aged Headmaster.

Snapping out of his stupor, Dumbledore merely made an anomalous movement with his wand, splitting the fire in two, separating on either side of him.

Breaking off the flames abruptly, Danail watched as Dumbledore didn't even hesitate, shouting out, "Expulso!" With the curse heading his way, Danail allowed himself to be hit, smirking as the Blasting Curse felt more like a tickle then anything else.

"Come on old man! You're going to have to do better then that if you want to beat me."

Dumbledore accordingly rose to the challenge.

"Fiendfyre!"

With a stream of fire bursting from the tip of his wand, Dumbledore launched the usually uncontrollable flames at his unknown adversary, shaped in the form of a phoenix as it closed in on him.

Danail in response, merely raised his right hand, the flaming phoenix immediately bending to his will, separating into two trails of fire, surrounding him. Bringing his hand around to his face, his palm facing his mouth, the flames swirled around him at a faster pace before becoming a single orb of furious flames, settling itself in his hand. Opening his mouth, Danail took a deep breath, pulling the orb into his mouth before breathing back out, a large gust of wind and raw magic accompanying it, the Headmaster's spell following right behind it, twice the original size and in the shape of a Horntail.

Dumbledore, again surprised at the utter display of the young man, hybrid, _thing_, in front of him, barely had the time to conjure the most powerful shield he knew, only for it to break within seconds, the fire consuming him in an instant.

Danail watched was clear amusement as the flames started to spread, alighting the nearby cabinets, shelves, and desk.

Walking out of the office, and with a causal flick of his wrist, sent the unconscious forms of McGonagall and Flitwick out into the hall before closing the door and placing a powerful locking charm on it.

He knew that Dumbledore was still alive, no doubt in shock of what had just transpired. While he was far more powerful then the old man could ever dream to be, he still had more experience and knowledge in the vast areas of magic. He won this battle through underestimation, a mistake that Dumbledore surely would not make again.

At least not concerning him anyway.

Walking back up to the Entrance Hall, Danail noted duly the number of students present in the Main Hall, no doubt huddled together from the breach of the wards, unaware that they were currently out of a Potion Instructor.

It at least explained why it had taken Dumbledore so long to arrive in the Potion Master's office.

'_Even if the man has only been here for what? A few days?'_ Pausing in his line of thought, Danail felt a sardonic grin stretch across his scaly lips. _'Still a worthless git either way actually.'_

Stepping out into the grounds, Danail gave grunt of pain as his wings erupted from his back yet again. Giving them an experimental flap, Danail shot into the air, before gliding over the Forbidden Forest and into Hogsmeade, disappariting in the air as soon as he bypassed the wards, one name less on his hit list.

* * *

**//-/Author's Note//-/**

**End of another chapter. I just know that about half of you who are going to chew my ass out, but I say bring it on!**

**Remember to hit the review button on the bottom of the screen. Criticism is welcomed, and feel free to point any thoughts or flaws you might see in this chapter, so long as you word it nicely. You want to swear, then swear, but don't do it excessively. I don't like reading anything that has the 'f bomb' in between every other word. I find it hard to take the review seriously after reading the f word for the sixth or seventh time. I mean, really…**


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Danail Aleksandur, was born and raised knowing three things. The Dark Lord was supreme. The Dark Lord is Law. The Dark Lord is Albus Severus Potter. Joining the Order of Slayers, he is sent on a mission that will change the lives of everyone, past, present, and future.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.©

**WARNING; RATING CHANGED TO M FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, LANGAUGE, AND VERY DARK THEMES.**

* * *

Interlude- Memories and Dreams

* * *

London; November 1st, 1981: 2:10 AM…

* * *

Arriving with a small pop, Danail gave a small grunt of displeasure as the aftereffects of apparitation lingered on his form. As a Dragon Hybrid, his magic was chaotic and constantly fluxed in odd patterns, making it hard to control it. It was only with the diligence, patience, and utter slave driver that was Hermione Granger that allowed him the control he had now, which still failed in comparison to that of his surrogate mother.

_'Hermione…'_

The thought of her, now of all times, was truly heart wrenching. He missed her stern gaze, intimidating lectures, and often swift and somewhat painful punishments.

Okay, maybe that last part made him seem more like a masochist then he would have liked, but in his book, if you felt pain, that meant that was another second you had alive. That was good enough for him.

Lords knows that he had suffered enough physical torments to warrant _three_ lifetimes worth of seconds.

* * *

_Flashback: Battle of Wales, October 31__st__, 2030..._

* * *

_Danail listened as William shouted over the hail of explosions and spell fire, "Keep your heads down!"_

_Though reluctant to follow the order, Danail had no choice in the matter as he felt someone grab his shoulder roughly, pulling him back down into the trench._

_"Any ideas General?"_

_Though his expression was serious, Danail could hear the mocking underlining in his voice as he addressed Hermione, clearly showing his lack of respect and faith in her abilities as a leader._

_William Berwick, an up and coming contender in the battle against the Dark Lord, was overly arrogant and ignorant. He played to his strengths, which was strategy and nothing else. The man had won a few battles here and there due to his planning, moving through the ranks rather quickly before inserting himself into his surrogate mother's privately lead forces._

_And as such, he, the _Sergeant_, needed to be reminded of _his_ place in _Hermione's_ army. And Danail was only too happy to volunteer his services for such an action._

_Moving faster then the man could see, Danail had his metallic hand wrapped firmly around William's neck, lifting him a few feet into the air, his eyes staring uncaringly into his commanding officer's._

_"I find your lack of faith…disturbing Sergeant Berwick."_

_Tightening his hold, Danail stated more then asked, "Perhaps a reminder of _who _is in control here is required sir?"_

_His tone, mocking and shrewd only infuriated the soon to be dead Sergeant as he gasped, his hands clasped tightly over his wrist in a feeble attempt to get Danail to dislodge his grip on the man's neck._

_Heh. As if that was going to happen. He was having too much fun at the moment._

_"Danail. Release him."_

_Immediately his grip slackened, and Berwick collapsed to the ground in a heap, coughing up a storm as he rubbed his tender throat, taking deep ragged breaths._

_Danail didn't even need to look and see the expression of disapproval on Hermione's face. He had been on the receiving end of it for so long that it became second nature for him to recognize the feel of her frosty stare penetrating his back._

_William looked up at him, still rubbing his throat, which had turned a horrible shade of red in the form of his fingers before he snarled, "Ever the obedient dog, aren't you Aleksandur?"_

_He didn't dignify the man with a response. It was true either way._

_He didn't know what happened next, but he heard the cry of various spells and automatic weaponry before something forcibly pushed him to the ground again. Unlike last time however, he heard the sound of flesh being ripped apart, followed by the various screams and explosions as one of the tankers within the trench exploded, no doubt from a Reducto curse or one of the Dark Lord's muggle followers M16's. It was an odd experience, seeing that the Dark Lord brought in the use of muggle weaponry and muggleborn support, something that every dark lord formerly was adverse to._

_It was probably why he was winning the war._

_Feeling his head spinning from the screams coming from all around him, Danail covered his head with hands, feeling something land heavily on him before something wet sank through his clothing and down his cheek. He assumed some idiot recruit got bold and tried to return fire, only to be pelted with machine gun fire. That or he tried to run and save his own life. Probably the latter of the two._

_Shrugging the body off, he licked the familiar taste of iron that dripped down towards his lip before casting his eyes to Hermione, only for them to widen in fear._

_She laid next to him, unmoving, a gaping, bleeding, hole in her abdomen._

_Rushing to her side with his wand in hand in an instant, Danail started to try and stop the bleeding, his panic clearly evident as he shouted, "Medic! I need a medic here now!" It was during the time that one of the medics actually gathered the courage to crawl towards them that Danail noticed the other various wounds on his surrogate mother's form. Apparently, the Blasting Curse wasn't the only spell she took for him._

_Normally, seeing such wounds on her wouldn't have bothered Danail. He'd seen her in similar states before. After all, this was her nephew she was facing off against, and she would be damned if she was going to sit in a big comfy chair behind a stack of paperwork while men and women of all ages died under his tyrannical rule._

_Except on the other occasions, she wasn't deathly pale and cold to the touch. Not to mention that she was usually breathing slow even breaths._

_Here and now however, her breathing was quick, hard, and labored. Almost as if it was taking every ounce of her strength just to take another sharp intake of air before dispelling it within seconds. It unnerved him. It scared him._

_It pissed him the hell off._

_"We need to stay down and wait for reinforcements!"_

_Danail didn't bother to make a comment towards the rookie, his hands clutching his wand rather tightly, his face pale and matted with sweat as his body trembled in fear and anxiety._

_Reinforcements weren't coming. Nobody aside from Hermione and himself knew the truth of the matter, but this was their last frontal assault. They lose here; they'd go from being a thorn in the Dark Lord's side to a mere fly, annoyingly buzzing around before being inevitably swat down. Hermione had gathered every trooper she could for this battle, this last confrontation, and it was literally do or die._

_He turned his eyes towards William, and watched in a rather detached manner as the man looked at the advancing troops, a gleam in his eyes as he returned his sight to the battered remains of Hermione's own army. Most were beaten, battered, or dead. _

_William closed his eyes before an expression of forced sorrow came across his face._

_"Surrender appears to be our only option. I'm sorry. We'll merely stay here for the time being and hope they send a negotiator to give the conditions on surrender."_

_He glanced to Hermione, still lying in his lap, pale and shaking, blood covering the left side of her face as her breathing came out even shorter. They were becoming weaker with every passing second, and he noted that her skin had become even paler, her lips slowly turning blue._

_Fuck hiding. Somebody hurt _His_ Hermione, his mother, and they were going to pay in blood, sweat, tears, and agony._

_Especially the agony._

_"I said stay done solider! That's an order!"_

_Danail didn't even realize that sometime during his internal rant that he had stood up. He also didn't hesitate as he sent the Killing Curse at William, ending his life. Did he fail to mention that Berwick was under suspension of being a spy for the Dark Lord? Regardless, he was pissed as hell, and there would be hell to pay. Consequences be damned, he was out for blood and nobody was going to stop him!_

_Leaping from the trench, his eyes already glowing a sickly purple in color, he struck the ground with both of his fists, still covered in Hermione's blood, before summoning a large wall that stretched for two miles from the ground. Encompassed in the wall were the bodies of the dead, ranging from animals, sea creatures, and humans alike._

_With his hands glowing green, he growled as he muttered a string of Latin under his breath, bones and decayed flesh lifting from the depth of the ground beneath his feet, forming themselves into a human like shapes, all different in appearance._

_His army of the dead, the tortured souls of those who lost their lives in acts of violence and sin, were under his command. Their purpose was to serve him and him alone._

_And his first order was the slaughter of the marching men and women who brought the most important person in his life to near death._

_He watched as hundreds upon thousands of decomposed skeletal warriors, armed with either swords, daggers, or their bare hands, charge forward, soul rendering howls escaping their non-existent lips, their rancid breath visible as they cried out for blood._

_Watching from atop the wall he had constructed to aid in what little remained of Herminoe's army, Danail leaped down, landing in a crouch before charging after his undead creations, murder in his heart._

_Curses flew from his hand unbidden, body parts flying through the air, blood washing over him as he charged through the group of Dark Lord Supporters._

_At some point, Danail stopped using magic and settled for using his hands, ripping hearts, kidneys, and other vital organs from his opponents. _

_What better way to make one suffer then to allow them a slow death through bleeding out?_

_The troops of the Dark Lord slowly dwindled, his own number of undead rising as downed comrades of the Dark Lord's Supporters rose to their feet, their eyes black, their blood cold, and their minds merely part of a greater mass of undead that bowed to his will._

_He gave a grunt as he felt several bullets rip into his right shoulder, someone actually getting a shot in before they were swarmed by several of the undead, each grabbing a limb before pulling him literally apart._

_Danail let a small chuckle, giggles really escape his lips. Why did they insist on making him bleed? He was a _fucking_ Necromancer. He commanded the souls of the afterlife, the decayed and putrid flesh of the dead, and the wails of agony and rage from the depths of hell. Blood only aided him in his cause._

_Especially when that blood was spilt in an act of violence._

_Of war._

_Smearing the blood dripping from his lips onto his hand, Danail slammed his fist into the ground, his eyes glowing black in the chaotic energy of darkness itself as he raised his army of undead from the ground. His body glowed as runes appeared over his skin, black in color before the blood started to trail up his body, taking the shape of the eccentric designs covering his body._

'Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness, I need to calculate, what creates my own madness…'

_Danail watched in a nonchalant manner as his undead forces tore through the enemy line, his undead hound, a Cerberus, maiming, ripping, just absolutely reaping hell on Albus Potter's followers. It was a slaughter. One that worked in his favor, and to his utter amusement._

_Damn. He really was fucked up._

'And I'm addicted to your punishment. And you're the master, and I am craving this disaster.'

_He turned his gaze back to Hermione, whom he noticed was doing slightly better under Michael's tender care. A pang of anger and jealousy festered itself into his artificial heart at the sight of Hermione under the man's treatment, content with lying there, watching him with that scrutinizing gaze he had come to realize she only showed him._

_When she was critiquing him. When she was watching to make sure that her time, her effort, wasn't wasted. When he didn't feel human._

_When he felt…liberated. Free._

_A sickening conjunction really. That he felt free through killing others. When the term humanity didn't apply to him._

'I think my thoughts when, I don't even need too. I never look back because I don't want even too, and I don't need to, because I'm getting away with Murder…'

_And if that wasn't far from the truth, he didn't know what was. He was getting away with murder. He liked to think of it as an art form really, an individual skill that only he possessed and could get away with doing. Sure others could kill as well. After all, humans, if they proved anything magical or otherwise, were very well adapt in the art of death and destruction, marred by sheer annihilation._

_But only he could do so in such a carefree, uncaring manner without the slightest hint of remorse. All in the name of 'Peace' and the selected few that mattered most to him._

_Or maybe delving that deeply into the Dark Arts made him think so. He wasn't sure, but couldn't be arsed to care._

_Seeing only a handful of opposing soldiers left, a feat that Danail mentally patted himself on the back for, having taken out more than five hundred trained witches and wizards with his undead legion, with plenty to spare for any future uses in the area, not to mention adding the number of recently dead to that count._

_Hn. He was going to have test his newly amassed army later._

_Reaching down and wrapping a hand around a man's throat as he attempted to crawl away, Danail twisted his wrist to the side, snapping his neck before throwing his carcass off to the side._

_Picking up a body off the ground, Danail held it in front of him, watching as a green jet of light collided with it, creating a large, gapping, smoldering hole in it. He returned fire, and watched with a substantial amount of satisfaction as his curse hit its target, sending them flying back a few feet in a heap on the ground, unmoving._

_Seeing another straggler, Danail walked over to him, watching as he attempted to reach a M16, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, broken. Stepping in beside him, Danail lifted his foot before smashing it on the man's lower back, stopping him in place as he gave a howl of pain, reaching desperately towards the weapon only a few inches in front of him._

_Kicking the gun to the sided, Danail grabbed the man by his hair before lifting him in the air so their eyes were level. His legs were hanging on only to the threads of his skin, and he gave a shrill cry as Danail forced him to stand on them._

_He was sick and twisted, what would one expect?_

_Looking into the man's eyes, he probed him for information, discovering that the man was nothing more but a grunt looking for glory._

_As he was about to let him down and use a single curse to end the man's life, a last minute image came to him. An image of Hermione's body pushing his aside followed by a series of curses striking her. A feeling of satisfaction was felt with the image, and feelings of perversities followed, thoughts of taking Granger's body off to the side when the battle was over and desecrating it in all manners and forms consuming the man for several minutes until Danail had erected his wall of undead._

_He changed his mind. This man was going to die a slow, painful, torturous death._

_Dropping the man to the ground, Danail grabbed both the man's legs before pulling, ripping the last bit of tissue connecting them to the man's body before tossing them aside carelessly, pointedly ignoring the man's screams of bloody murder._

_Didn't he realize that was the idea?_

_Bringing his fist down, Danail saw red as he slammed his fist into the man's skull, the blood splattering his metallic hand and face. He repeated the process, even after the man's screams had all but disappeared, even after the man's face was no more than a disfigured mess._

_He stopped only when a pair of arm hands grabbed his shoulders, small and feminine, a squeeze signifying her silent message._

_He slowly raised himself off the man's headless corpse, Hermione hands pulling him towards her, arms wrapping around his waist._

_She was hugging him. Danail was surprised. She hadn't hugged him in over five years. Hell, she hadn't said a kind word to him in even longer._

_In an instant, he returned the embrace, a desperation, a craving for her approval and only hers creeping into his systems._

_Damn the insecurities to hell and back! He thought he had gotten over all that already!_

_Regardless, he enjoyed the hug, sucking the rarest moments of compassion from Hermione before she would return to her cold, unfeeling, persona as General Granger._

_All this really proved was that he was selfish as any other man._

_And he hated comparing himself to any other man. He was unique. He was exceptional. He was somewhat crazy, psychotic really, but in an age of death, chaos, and destruction, wasn't everybody?_

_His eyes caught the looks of the remaining soldiers, all looking at the scene with bewilderment, disgust and in some cases envy. He glared at them, and immediately all heads and gazes turned away from him. It wasn't the first time he had been subjected to such stares, such gazes of fear and unbridled hatred._

_And to be quite frank, he didn't give a damn. He was worth more than anyone of them, and had nothing to prove to anybody. He was a soldier. A murderer. It was what he did best after all._

_But he'd be damned if they ever looked at Hermione like that._

* * *

_How was he considered evil?_

_He watched as the small girl he had offered a hand to after she collided with him run away from, him, crying about how she didn't want to die and not to hurt her and the like. He didn't let it bother him, not anymore._

_He smirked as he remembered a line from a muggle film that he had watched once. It was based off a television series in the states, and he couldn't help but share the man's sentiments._

_He was a monster. He had no place living in a world built for the innocent, for evil individuals such the Dark Lord to exist._

_And let's be honest, he was brutal, cruel, dark, sinister, and foul in every sense of the word that Dark Lord's such as Voldemort and Grindelwald would piss themselves in fear. Except him._

_He was literally bathed in the blood of the corrupt, of the damned, of those psychotic idealists who felt a perfect world could only be accomplished through genocide. He took it all in stride, and allowed their sins to wash over him, tainting him further, leading him down a much darker path of ruin._

_But the one man whose blood he wanted to spill, to drain from his lifeless corpse, still eluded him. Still hanging above him, visible to all, but impossible to reach and measure up too._

_Albus Severus Potter. The Dark Lord. The man that Danail wanted to kill for every conceivable reason that could possibly exist and having those same reasons allowing him the rights in doing so. But none of those reasons were for him. They were all for others._

_For Hermione in losing her husband, children, and beloved brother, her secret lover, in everything but intimacy. For Victori__é__ in her unjust death, in the loss of her husband and innocence. All for others, but never for him._

_Killing him would be reward enough in his rights._

* * *

_Flashback: Underground W.A.W.A. HQ, November 2__nd__, 2032_

* * *

_Another dead._

_He watched as another nameless, faceless solider was placed in the mass grave. Things were only growing steadily worse as time progressed. Not even individual graves or proper military sendoffs were being followed. Instead, all their dead, men, women, boys and girls, husbands and wives, were all thrown into a single gaping hole before they're remains were burned in a blaze of flames._

_Didn't want them to end up resurrected after all._

_Which was also true. He already killed William, the bastard, twice now. He didn't need to do it a third time._

_He smiled sadly at Victori__é__. Even with all that was happening, knowing that her cousin was the cause of all this destruction, she still stood strong._

_A testament to her mother, bless her soul wherever she was being tortured._

* * *

_Flashback: Diagon Alley, October 21__st__, 2035_

* * *

_He sat there calmly, watching, plotting, taking a sick sense of satisfaction in the back of his mind to the forefront and relishing in it. It didn't matter that he was disobeying orders. It didn't matter that by accomplishing his goal that he had set himself today, would undermined years of swift planning and careful considerations of the W.A.W.A._

_It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Victori__é__ was dead. One simple word and wave of her wand and that was it._

_He snarled in his throat as he watched Umbridge, head held up high, her visage of pure contempt seeping so deeply into her soul that the air around her tasted foul._

_And just like Victori__é__, a simple word or two will end it. Her life, her existence. It was a temptation he wouldn't in his life try to resist._

_Never._

_"AVADA KEDVARA!!!"_

_The look of horror on the bitch's face was a moment Danail wished to capture and treasure for the rest of his life. It was something so sweet that Danail was sure if fit for consumption, would taste like honey._

_He would however, never get to know that look as the expression on her face wasn't one of horror. It was of shock, betrayal, and sadness. He watched as the woman slumped to the ground in a heap on the streets of Diagon Alley, the vendors and passerby passing in their daily lives to look at the killer of the woman, only to bow their heads and go to their knees as the Dark Lord stepped forward._

_Danail felt his rage burn in his blood. The bastard denied him his vengeance once more! Umbridge's death would have been on his hands! Justice would have been served! And now…and now…_

_Victori__é__ would just be another name on a long list of suicides within the W.A.W.A. Another faceless individual who could not coop with the troubles of the war and ended her existence in an attempt to stop the pain._

_She deserved better then that. She always deserved better then what she got._

_Albus didn't even acknowledge the hundreds of witches and wizards bowing to him. No, he merely gazed at the body of the detestable woman he had just killed in cold blood before moving his eyes to his, hidden amongst the shadow._

_It was then that Danail's hatred for the Dark Lord took a much darker path. That his hatred had dived deeper into an obsession._

_It was because on that day, of October 21__st__, 2035, that Albus Severus Potter, standing over the corpse of the chief head of the Impure Blood Confederation, the woman responsible for Victori__é__'s suffering in life, smiled at him._

_Because he killed the woman that had effectively killed the only woman that Danail had loved._

* * *

_Flashback: The Institution, April 19__th__, 2030_

* * *

_It had been fairly easy for Danail to break into the Dark Lord's office. A strong confundus charm and a few bewitchments, and the stone statue moved aside, allowing Danail to quickly travel up the stairs, two at a time, before entering the Headmaster's office._

_The reason? The man enough tomes and artifacts pertaining to the Dark Arts that he gathered from his vast travels across the globe that essentially, if one wanted to become a Dark Lord or follow in the man's footsteps, one would only needed to spend nothing more than a few hours in the man's study to gain years of knowledge that many had sought after for years._

_Reaching the man's vast shelves of books and tomes, Danail started pulling books out at random, flipping though the indexes and pages, before either flinging them to the side or shrinking them and placing them in his robes._

_"And what, pray tell, are you doing here at this time of night young child?"_

_Danail froze before he growled lowly and glared at the portrait of the 'famed' Headmaster of Hogwarts, his blue ice looking down at him, their mysterious twinkle missing._

_"The Dark Arts young child? What could possibly possess you to learn such a grave form of magic?"_

_He snarled at the man._

_As if he had any right to tell him anything! He was the cause of this, all of it!_

_"You have no right to reprimand me in any form or manner old man. Now be silent!"_

_Turning on his heel with his cloak blowing behind him, Danail continued to filter through the Dark Lord's private collection of tomes regarding the dark arts, while pocketing a few more from the many books on the shelves that were passed down from Headmaster to Headmaster._

_"Dear boy, I beseech you. The Dark Arts are a form of magic not even the greatest of wizards and witches could ever hope to control."_

_"Speaking from experience Headmaster?"_

_Almost immediately the portrait's features hardened. His eyes settling into a disapproving glare, his lips forming a thin line underneath the white of his beard._

_"If you continue to pilfer through young Albus' collection, I regret to tell you that as a portrait to the school, I would have to report you."_

_His response was the finger as Danail continued to ignore him, this time going through the man's desk in hopes of finding an artifact or two._

_"Enough! I won't ask again!"_

_Danail in response, slammed the tome he had been scanning through shut, before throwing an angry, accusatory glare at the portrait of the famed Albus Dumbledore, his rage barely concealed within his eyes._

_"I said to be silent! You are the last person to make any demands here Dumbledore, from all the lives you ruined and destroyed!"_

_Dumbledore glared at him, even for a portrait, his eyes were alight as an unbridled anger burned within them._

_"You understand very little of the world boy. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good of all people. Adhering to the belief that one's life is far more important than that of a whole is woefully unacceptable and demeaning. I followed that belief once, and in the end, it cost me my parents, my sister, and my brother. A life of loneliness and despair, where one is recognized instantly for their accomplishments with no loved one to share it with is a truly demeaning existence, one that I could not allow those under my tutelage and control to live."_

_His glare lessened, but his facial features marred themselves into a frown._

_"I regret nothing in regards to Harry."_

_Danail felt his anger peak._

_"You bastard! You think this is about Harry James Potter?! The man has been dead for years Albus! And Harry's life isn't the only one whose life you've ruined! What about Hermione? The smartest witch in a century graces the halls in Hogwarts only to be the victim of ridicule from both the school and magical Britain alike! To be thrown into a loveless marriage for over twenty years, to know that the man she loves is being manipulated most of his life, only to stand aside and watch him continue on a path of self-destruction you set up for him!"_

_"I did nothing but merely give Harry guidance. He knew what choices laid before them and the consequences of those choices."_

_Danail scoffed._

_"There you go again, bringing it back to Potter. You told the idiot boy that unless he did it your way and your way only, people where going to die. Its war you worthless waste of paint! People die in war, no matter what! And yet, by following your rules of no killing, of allowing Death Eaters to join your ranks and walk free when their guilt and sins pilfer their souls, it gave Harry the complex of a fucking martyr! It's sickening to know that in her room at night, Hermione cries for that mindless little clone of yours!"_

_His eyes were blazing, and he honestly didn't care if the other portraits were listening or had gone to alert the staff of an intruder within the Headmaster's office._

_"And what's worse is that under an Unbreakable Vow she made to you in her first year, she couldn't ever tell the boy she loved him! Not fucking once! And then once she realized your manipulations, you have fucking Alastor Moody tracking her parents, more than ready to kill them should she interfere! Consider yourself lucky that you're already dead old man because I would otherwise take great pleasure in rendering your head from your body!"_

_Dumbledore, if it were possible, paled at the information that had spewed from the boy's mouth, and could only close and open his mouth repeatedly, unable to form a proper response._

_And if he thought Danail was done, he was horribly mistaken._

_"Shall I go on then? Perhaps we should go in detail how far your treachery truly goes? Or should I bring up the most recent crimes you've committed to humanity as a whole? Like when you told Potter of the Grail! Of Merlin's prison! He gained power far beyond that of a god because of you old man!"_

_Dumbledore seemed taken aback from the shrill of outrage and hate that Danail had just released on him. Danail himself didn't care for it, seeing as this was something that the old man had coming since Potter's rise to power that he had solidified knowing full well of the end results._

_"Women, men, children! Husbands, wives, brothers and sisters! My own fucking parents! All killed by a man whom you gave the ability to find, and use infinite power beyond human comprehension! And for what?! The fact that you feel guilty for fucking up his father's life? Here's a newsflash you bastard, Potter already knew what you did to his dear old dad, and already is making the whole world pay in blood, tears, and torment! How many more fucking lives are you going to ruin until you feel that your sins have been atoned for?!"_

_Finally, for the first time since Danail had started his rant, Dumbledore broke in, his voice slightly soft as he tried to placate the young man from doing something possibly hazardous to him as he witnessed a dark aura surrounding him._

_"My dear boy…I am truly sorry for what transpired in regards to your parents. I-"_

_"SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!!!_

_In an instant, Danail had the canvas in flames, and watched with a small level of satisfaction as the portrait burned the Headmaster's voice now silent. He had no disillusions that the man was dead, knowing that he had several other dozen portraits in the world, and would no doubt speak with Potter about his intrusion at a later date._

_Let the fucker tell then. When Albus comes knocking on his door, he'd be ready. He'd always be ready._

* * *

_God damnit! This shouldn't be so hard! He was a fucking Necromancer! He was a Dark Arts Master! His skill could rival that of Dumbledore! His raw power easily toppled over Riddle's!_

_So why was fucking Albus Severus Potter beating him?!_

_"Avada Kedvara!"_

_The man knocked his spell away with a twirl of his hand before he levitated him off the ground, his hand closing into a fist, causing an intense pressure to build around Danail's windpipe._

_"Do you honestly think that I didn't know about your little intrusion into my office? Or about your spying mission the minute you enrolled into my school?"_

_With a flick of his wrist, he sent Danail crashing through the door of the man's office, tumbling down the stairs, colliding head first into the stone gargoyle that guarded his office, a large gash appearing with the blood quickly dropping down his face._

_With his vision slightly blurry and head throbbing, Danail wearily raised his hand up, unsteady, clutching onto the stone statue's wing, pushing himself up to his feet._

_He turned his head around, only to face the Dark Lord's open palm as he silently cast an enhanced Expulso._

_Feeling the spell hit him in his already cracked ribs, now shattered, he went soaring, crashing throw the stone gargoyle and into the wall out in the hall, his back leaving a heavy indentation as he slumped to the ground._

_Before he could raise his wand and fire another spell from his position on the floor, Albus fired another spell, this one a Reducto Curse, which not only destroyed his wand, but obliterated Danail's arm from the elbow down, painting the walls red with his blood._

_Giving a howl of absolute pain beyond comprehension, Danail's screams got even louder as Potter then fired a cutting hex at his face, on the prelude of removing his tongue. Instead, Danail jerked at the last second, the spell missing its intended target and landing on his left eye, leaving an empty eye socket and half his face coated in blood._

_He seemed unaffected from the show of blood and carnage, though a smile did creep up on his as he gazed at Danail, who despite all the pain, mustered the strength to continue to glare at the man._

_An admirable feat he would later say; to stare at the man who could end your life at any second with nothing but rage and contempt._

_Albus continued with his earlier taunt, his smile turning to a frown within a few short moments._

_"Those books…? Do you think that I, Albus Severus Potter would leave such items out in the open for anyone with a hint of planning, cleverness, courage, and brains to gather?"_

_Without waiting for an answer, he continued._

_"It was test boy. I've been…meaning to find an apprentice, one who could continue my legacy. A champion, to serve under my whim, to rule at my side before one day taking my place, and becoming the next Dark Lord."_

_He kneeled down, brushing his midnight black robes to the side as he gazed into Danail's only remaining eye, the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall as members of the Institution's staff came running to their master's aid._

_"What do you say?"_

_Danail in response spat what blood was still in his mouth at the man's face._

_"Fuck you, and go rot in hell!"_

_Wiping the blood from his face, Albus gave a sigh of disappointment before gesturing to the two of his staff whom just arrived to pick him up._

_"Take him to Macnair. I want the boy tortured for the whereabouts of Granger and her resistance group. Any means are to be used."_

_Pausing, he said with a look of neutrality on his face, "I don't want enough of him left to fit in a match box."_

* * *

_Flashback: W.A.W.A Medical Wing, April 29__th__, 2029_

* * *

_He opened his eyes, his vision slightly blurry as several shapes appeared before him, all unfocused and hard to make out._

_At least until a misshapen mass of brown came into his line of sight. He'd recognize that hair anywhere._

_"H-Hermione…?"_

_His voice was weak, scratchy, hoarse from both disuse and the constant screaming he had done while subjected to the Dark Lord's 'tender' mercies._

_She placed her fingers to his lips, a gesture for him to remain silent while she spoke. Her voice, often soft and tender, mothering and affectionate, was cold, unfeeling, and without a hint of caring._

_"My spies within the Institution found you in the dungeons. You were trapped there for ten days, placed in constant torture sessions ranging anywhere between five to ten hours with a five minute intervention in between. You can't talk because you tore your voice box within the second day of torture, and though we were able to reconstruct it, it'll be sometime before you can freely speak without the fear of ripping your voice box again."_

_Nodding his head, Danail waited patiently for Hermione to continue, noticing that his eyes sight was returning to him as the room around them started to come into focus._

_"You suffered through a list of severe injuries that most individuals would have died from. In all manners of speaking, you were dead upon your rescue and arrival here. Through both magical and muggle means, we were able to resurrect you and give you proper medical treatment."_

_Frowning, she asked for a nearby nurse to hand her a chart, which she was granted almost instantly. Everybody knew of her temper when her desires and wishes weren't adhered too._

_"You suffered from severe blood loss, about sixty pints worth. Seven broken ribs, puncture wounds from said ribs to both the heart and lungs. A fractured femur, a broken tailbone, and a fractured wrist. You also suffered from third degree burns from a branding tool of sorts. Prolonged effects to Cruciatus Curse, and potion poisoning from an overdose from Veritaserum. And last, but not least, the most obvious of injuries being the absence of both your left eye and right arm."_

_At her admission, Danail looked down to his right arm, and felt a flare of raw anger enter his body as he saw the skeletal metal appendage that was now dubbed his new arm. All it was a motor attached to a long rod which separated into three different pistons and into a rectangular sized palm with five moving rods that resembled fingers. He flexed his thumb, and while he didn't feel anything, was surprised and slightly disgusted when he saw his thumb make the movement his brain had sent._

_He was a freak. A half man, half machine freak._

_Potter was going to pay, and pay dearly._

_Looking around him and noticing the various muggle machines hooked up to him, Danail sat himself up, ignoring the doctors and magical healers cries around him to lay back down, including Hermione's own raised eyebrow at his actions. Taking the wires that were hooked into his left arm, he ripped them out, a small snarl forcing its way through his throat from the pain before repeated the process with his other arm, though the amount of wires were lessened greatly due to the fact that he only had half of it, the other being metal. He smacked a doctors hand away as he tried to forcibly push him back onto the bed, and grabbed a healer by her throat before throwing her across the room when she pulled her wand out in an attempt to subdue him._

_She should count her blessings on that one. Last person who was in the medical profession who pulled their wand out on him…was still in a coma from the last he heard._

_Placing his feet on the ground rather shakily, and baring his teeth at one of the doctors who were coming at him with a syringe, Danail growled, "Get that shit near me and I'll inject that crap where the sun don't shine before ripping your fucking balls off and feeding it to your children! ARE WE CLEAR?!"_

_The doctor in response dropped the needle within seconds before backing himself into the corner of the room, wanting to put as much distance between him and his psychotic patient._

_He looked around the room, noting that his vision was slightly better than before, and frowned slightly when he realized he was looking through _two_ eyes instead of just one. Walking towards a small mirror on a nearby dresser, Danail didn't restrain the snort of disgust as he looked in it._

_Danail glared hatefully into his reflection, noticing immediately his normal natural born sapphire eye and the artificially implanted red eye._

_Raising his fist, he smashed the mirror, not even registering the pain that flared within his left hand before turning his accusing gaze to his commander, leader, and surrogate mother._

_Hermione, in return, gave him a scrutinizing look._

_"Your mission still stands. To hunt down and kill the Dark Lord. Do you wish to participate in the mission still?"_

_Danail looked to the side, and found Victori__é__ standing near the entrance into the wing, a look of concern, horror, happiness and regret in her eyes. The concern for him standing before her, fully recovered. The horror at the metal appendage he now sprouted. The happiness for being alive to see another day. And the regret in knowing what his decision was about to be._

_"You don't even have to ask."_

* * *

_End Flashback_

* * *

Danail, letting the memories wash over him, felt his shoulders slump in defeat.

So many battles fought. So many lives lost. And for what? It all to lead to a mission that had no standing in his time? For him to save another era from destruction?

And then what? What would become of him? He was a soldier, a killer, a man basically breed and molded for fighting. He had no qualm to exist in a world surrounded by peace and prosperity.

And it wasn't like he could start a family and buckle down. His only semblance to a life anywhere near that was Victorié, and she had been reaching the end of children bearing years, not to mention that she had only recently had lost her husband before her death.

Add the fact that he had to protect Harry Potter, father of his sworn enemy, the reason for Hermione's suffering and desolate years in marriage to the Weasley Clan. Killing him would end all their problems, her problems. She could live a much happier, more fulfilling life without the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. The One-Who-Sired-The-Dark-Lord.

And she ordered him to spare him, protect him. And for what? For their suffering to begin anew?

_'As if things couldn't get any worse.'_

"Reducto!"

_'I spoke to soon.'_

* * *

**//-/Author's Note/-//**

**Another chapter done! I'm actually surprised by the number of positive reviews I'm getting for this story! I wasn't sure if I was going to continue with this, but after reading all your reviews, (Minus a few unfavorable ones who left a 'questionable' comment or two without a reply Url. Yeah, you know who you are) I figured, "Eh, why the hell not?"**

**So a bit of Albus action on both men, a little background on Danail and the war, his relationship with Hermione, and a few answers for his more, 'questionable' nature.**

**Remember to hit the review icon below and leave me your thoughts and what not. I enjoy reading what another person says or thinks so long as it's constructive. And further down is a spoiler of the next chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Spoiler: Chapter 5- Mission: Getting Away With Murder II_

* * *

_Already pushing his luck as it was, Danail flicked his hand, Sirius' compulsion now gone._

_With the compulsion gone, Sirius immediately shot to his feet, turning his eyes towards Danail, a look of utter hatred on his face. He would have looked alarmingly frightening if it weren't for the fact that he was still holding the plastic ball in his mouth._

_Snorting a bit, Danail said rather daringly, "A ball in your mouth Mr. Black? And here I thought you were a ladies' man."_

* * *

_Raising the Elder Wand and a spell on the tip of his tongue, Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock when the figure raised their hand, Dumbledore's wand flying from his grip before he was thrown backwards by a banishing curse._

_Slamming into his chair and knocking it over in the process, Dumbledore gave a small groan of pain, realizing quite bitterly that he wasn't as young as he used to be._

_Standing to his feet shakily, Dumbledore looked up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes that screamed years of hardship and experience that not even he himself, whom had lived the better part of a century and now two wars, could never dream to match._

_"Headmaster."_

_The figure's voice was cold, unfeeling, and surprisingly female. His surprise must have showed on his face as the woman's eyes narrowed, the Elder Wand still in hand as the tip glowed a sickly green._

_"Surprised that you were beaten by a woman? How…disappointing."_

* * *

_Bellatrix didn't even hesitate. True, she may have been the Dark Lord's strongest supporter. And yes, maybe Bellatrix felt more for the man then she should, especially being married. Or formerly married, having been a widow for only a few minutes now. But like any rational pureblooded witch or wizard, the right to live and see another day was all to promising._

_Or at least that was what logical response the little voice in her head told her, whilst ordering her to take the man's generous offer._

_She took his hand._

_"Yes."_

_The man smiled._

_"Excellent. May I introduce myself then? My name is Scorpius, and I serve the Dark Lord Albus Severus Potter."_


End file.
